


Fallout Falling

by syrenpan



Series: Arthur/Danse stories [10]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 37,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrenpan/pseuds/syrenpan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of drabbles I wrote and first published on my <a href="https://syrenpan.tumblr.com">tumblr</a>. </p><p>Marked as complete - but I will keep adding to it as and when. </p><p>You can request one for yourself - my ask box on tumblr is open. </p><p>You can see from the chapter index, I've included the pairings for each chapter in the title.</p><p>1.+15. Arthur/Female Sole<br/>2.+9.+13. Danse/Male Sole<br/>3. Danse + Haylen<br/>4.+5.+18.+21.+23.+26.+29.+31.+32.+33.+35.+36.+38. Arthur/Danse<br/>6. Arthur/Danse/Female Sole Survivor<br/>7.+8.  John Hancock/Female Sole<br/>10. Deacon/Cait<br/>11.+12.+27. Arthur Maxson/Male Sole<br/>14. Deacon/Hancock<br/>16. Danse/Curie<br/>17. + 23. Rhys/Haylen<br/>19. + 20. Danse + Maxson's daughter<br/>22. Cait<br/>25. X6-88/Female Sole<br/>28. Danse/Deacon<br/>30.+34. Danse/Cutler<br/>37. Arthur/Lone Wanderer</p><p>Tags are in the individual chapter summaries, so you have an idea what you're getting into.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wanting and Waiting - Arthur/Female Sole

**Author's Note:**

> Fallout 4 (c) Bethesda - No copyright infringement intended.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: UST

Maxson was talking, complimenting her on a successful mission. Her eyes kept darting to his lips, moving, praising. Distractedly she wondered, not for the first time, how someone so young could appear so mature, so confident. 

‘Congratulations, Knight,’ the Elder finished.

'Huh?’ 

Damn it. She knew she was still staring at his mouth, and now he had noticed. 

Awkward silence stretched until Maxson cleared his throat. 'Is there anything else you need, soldier?’ 

Maybe it was her imagination but had he just spoken at a lower register? 

_'Yes. Yes, there is something. I think I need to feel your lips on mine. Actually, I want you to pick me up and take me against that wall. Oh God, I want to go down on my knees and suck your cock, right now. Would that be acceptable?’_

'No, Elder. And thank you,’ she said instead and left the room just shy of running.

*~*

She was ready to step onto the Interceptor platform. Nobody had ever attempted what they were about to do and there was a good chance that she would end up in tiny pieces all over the airport instead of inside the Institute, but she had to try. Shaun was on the other side and nothing and no-one would stand in her way. 

Proctor Ingram nodded at something behind her; Elder Maxson entered the airport. 

_‘I wouldn’t even stop for you,’_ she realised as she watched him approach. She frowned at herself and the childish crush she had on a man almost half her age. 

He briefed her on details of the mission ahead, she listened and agreed without asking questions, eager to get going. No straying thoughts, no distractions this time. Her son was all that mattered. 

'Good luck!’ Maxson said out loud and began to walk toward the control console. When he drew level with her, he leaned in close enough for his breath to caress her ear, 'And come back to us in one piece. …Come back to me.’

The End


	2. That’s how we do it in the Brotherhood - Danse/Male Sole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: kissing

The mission statement had been simple enough: eliminate all Super Mutants and secure the Fat Man shell stockpile. Encased in Power Armor and with Paladin Danse by his side, Nate felt confident he could take on the world.

There was something oddly comforting about the rut of obeying orders again, of being an instrument for destruction for an elusive greater good. He was a living weapon, had been a weapon all his adult life, and now he was Elder Maxson’s to wield.

A savage grin crossed the former vault dwellers features. Yes, the Brotherhood of Steel and Nate would get along nicely.

The Vertibird dropped them at Fort Strong where they cut a bloody path through the green-skinned enemies until only he and Danse were left standing. A lucky shot to the FC had forced the Paladin to step out of his Power Armor but it had merely slowed him down the five seconds it took him to get out of it before he had continue his attack just as mercilessly as before.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, the rush of battle, the thrill of killing without remorse. When the last enemy fell, Nate ejected from his own metal suit.

“Are you injured, Knight?”

“No,” Nate replied shaking his head, his eyes drawn to the Paladin’s lips. He didn’t think. Like in any other battle, he just reacted. Nate snaked his hand around the back of his superior officer’s head and crushed their mouth together.  

Danse made a surprised sound at the back of his throat but when Nate’s tongue pushed against his lips, he didn’t resist. Nate relied on brute force rather than finesse, higher thought processes overruled by pure instinct and the need to claim what he wanted to be his.

When he finally had his fill, the Knight pulled back, breathless and flushed. Danse lips looked swollen and wet and Nate almost leaned in again, but this time a hand on his chest forced him to stop.

A semblance of sanity returned and with it the mortifying realization what he had just done. “I’m sorry,” Nate stammered. He wanted to blame the heat of the battle, his loneliness, his desperate need for another human’s touch. But the words died in this throat when Danse smiled and said, “Me too.”

Nate took a few shaking breath, raking his hand through blonde locks before he replied, “You don’t look sorry, sir.”

The Paladin’s smile got wider, “Let me clarify that statement, soldier. I’m sorry that we have to continue this at another time.”

Nate felt the corner’s of his mouth twitch as he watched his brother in arms pick up his laser rifle and walk toward the elevator.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this was the first concept of the Male Sole Survivor who eventually turned out to be Nate Connolly in Born to be Wild.


	3. I'm pregnant - Danse + Haylen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: Feels, tears, pregnancy, mention of needle under skin

Paladin Danse finds his Field Scribe on the roof of the police station, staring up into the night sky.

“There you are. Rhys’s ready to come on duty in five.”

He stops in his track when he hears a loud sniff, followed by a shuddering breath.

“Haylen?”

She jumps up from the supply crate and staggers a few steps backward out of the circle of light from the storm lantern next to her feet.

“What? Oh, Danse, sorry. I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t hear you come up here.”

Danse frowns down at her. “You’re on sentry duty, Haylen, and you didn’t  _hear_  me?” He underlines his remark by taking a few more steps toward her, the metal of his power armor groaning with each movement.

He can’t make out her face in the dark, her body merely an outline in the night, but something about her stance suggests she is suitably embarrassed about her lapse in vigilance.

Danse sighs. They can’t afford to be careless, but it  _had_  been a shitty day.

“I…”

“Forget it, soldier. Just don’t let it happen again,” he says tiredly, the corner of his mouth curving in a small smile.

Haylen straightens up and salutes. “Understood! Thank you, sir.”

“Did you even hear what I said?”

Haylen shakes her head.

“Rhys will be here in five minutes to take over.”

“Already? Is it that late?” Haylen stares at the sky again.

Danse narrows his eyes and steps closer to her until he can make out her features. She hastily wipes the sleeve of her uniform over her face, but it is too late. Her eyes look puffy, salty streaks still visible on her cheeks.

She stares helplessly at him, her lower lip quivers.

“ _Well shit,”_ Danse thinks as he presses the eject button and climbs out of the power armor.

Haylen is tall, but even without his armor, Danse still stands at 6’5”. She has to tilt her head to look up into his face before something seems to crack and she can’t take it any more.

Haylen wraps her arms around him as best she can and buries her face against his broad chest, and he has no idea what to do. There is no protocol or Codex entry for crying subordinates, so he does what he would do with anyone else and pulls her against him. Instincts are taking over and he notices he is gently rocking her while she cries in his arms.

He can hear the creaking of the metal door behind him and Rhys appears. Danse twists his head and winces as his neck protests, but he manages to catch the Knight’s eye and shake his head at him. Rhys looks at him, slightly stunned, but retreats back downstairs without a word. If Haylen has noticed any of this, she is beyond caring at this point, lost to her agony.

They stand like this for a few more minutes before Haylen sucks in a few shaky breath and stills. Danse can feel where her tears have soaked through his BOS suit. It’s damp and uncomfortable but not nearly as much as the helplessness he feels in the face of the situation.

For want of anything appropriate to say he asks, “Better?”

Haylen reluctantly pulls out of the safety of his arms and hiccups.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, gaze turned to the concrete floor.

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he replies gently. She really doesn’t. Being in the field is always a challenge. Haylen is not the first soldier whose nerves got the better of them, and she won’t be the last. That much he does understand.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Haylen?”

“I…we, that is the team, we have a situation.”

The words sound as if she has to drag them out into the open, something she would rather not share. He knows whatever it is, it’s bad news, and it’s making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The last thing Recon Team Gladius needs at this point is more bad news. He takes a deep breath and braces himself for whatever is coming.

“I’m pregnant.”

Danse eyes snap open. “Are you sure?” One look at her face confirms it, “Of course you are.” He rakes is hand over his face. That  _is_  bad news.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Under any other circumstances a pregnancy would be celebrated. Everyone would rejoice with the expecting mother and father. But these aren’t “any other” circumstances. They are way beyond enemy lines inside hostile and uncharted territory.

Danse curses under his breath.

“I know, sir. I know.”

“Does Rhys know?”

“What? No. Why would…oh. He’s not the father.”

Danse raises his eyebrows and feels a blush spread from his neck upwards. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression you two had an…an  _understanding_. My apologies.”

Haylen scoffs. “No, he is very firmly married to the Brotherhood, just like you really!” She gasps when the words leave her mouth, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant no offense.”

Danse raises his hand. “None taken, Haylen,” and means it.

He is well aware that soldiers hook up in the field to elevate the stress, but he has never been one of them. But that leaves them with the uncomfortable conclusion that the father of Haylen’s child lies in a shallow grave by the roadside.

As if she has read his mind, she says, “Daz, it was Daz.”

This time Danse swears out loud. Knight Daz Hernandez died this morning because he gave Haylen the order to end his suffering with an overdose of narcotics, and she did it – without questioning.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Haylen shakes her head. “Would it have made any difference?” 

“I…,” he hesitates. “I don’t know.”

“I told him, you know.” She manages a shaky smile. “Before I put the needle into his vein. He died happy, Danse.”

Haylen unconsciously crosses her hands over her tummy in a protective gesture. Danse doesn’t remember his own mother, but he absolutely understands the need to protect those in your care. Now there is just one more. That’s all there is to it, really.

“Haylen?”

“Change of plan.”

“Sir, I…,” she sees the look in his eyes and says, “yes, sir!”

“We need to find a way to signal the Prydwen.”

“The Prydwen? But she is out of range? We’d…or maybe. Yes, I have an idea.”

“Good. Make it happen. In the meantime, I’ll scout the area for anything to boost the signal. You and Rhys fortify our position here. And set up a short-range beacon to call for assistance.”

“With all due respect, we were supposed to go together, sir,” Haylen says sternly, bristling at being treated differently.

“Like it or not, things have changed.” He gestures toward her tummy.

“But, sir, it’s too risky on your own. Protocol says…”

“Then I’ll find someone to go with me.”

“But who?”

“Anyone willing to lend the Brotherhood of Steel a hand. Trust me, Haylen, I’ll find a way for all our sake.” He puts a hand on her shoulder and squeezes it lightly.

Haylen puts her hand over his and smiles at him, maybe he hadn’t done too badly.

“Thank you, Danse. Ad Victoriam.”

“Ad Victoriam, solider.”

The End


	4. I wish I could hate you - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: fucking, angst, love

The man is moving on top of him, cock buried deep inside Danse’s ass. Each thrust more powerful than the next, and yet he wants more. Danse legs are wrapped around the back of Arthur’s thighs, spurning him on, pulling him closer. Maxson growls, eyes clenched shut.

“ _You don’t want to see me,”_  Danse thinks, mouth opening in a gasp when the next push rocks him up the mattress.

Arthur’s body is covered in sweat. Danse fixes his gaze on a droplet running from between the furrowed brows down the length of the other man’s nose. Such a trivial thing to notice, especially now.

“ _I’m your enemy, and yet you come back here.”_ He doesn’t understand why this keeps happening to them. Every time the Elder leaves, it’s like it’s for good, and yet – like clockwork – he returns after a few weeks, and like a faithful dog, Danse opens the door.

Maxson never looks at him, eyes fixed on the floor when he takes his clothes off. He blindly reaches for Danse, hand fisting in the former Paladin’s hair before he pulls him into a savage kiss.

They are never gentle. Pain and lust and hypocrisy. Together they are committing the worst of crimes – every kiss, every touch, every thrust makes a mockery of the tenets.

But they can’t stop. It’s like a drug, and they are hooked, lost, addicted.

“Why are we doing this?” And only when Maxson’s eyes snap open does Danse realize he has asked it out loud.  

Arthur stops and looks at him. His eyes are  _burning_ , hips still making small rocking motions, unable to stop. The droplet finally falls, splashing onto Danse’s chin. Maxson lowers his head and licks it off before he plunges his tongues into the other man’s mouth.

Arthur bites into Danse’s lip when he pulls back, drawing blood. The metallic tang mixes with the taste of salt and Arthur in his mouth. Danse moans when strong, calloused hands grab the back of his thighs, spreading him wider. Maxson has adjusted his angle, every thrust hits that spot inside Danse’s ass. He screams in pleasure, senses overloading, and still Arthur’s eyes are on him.

His own lust is fueled by what he sees in the other man’s expression; it’s like drowning in searing, blue fire. Danse’s hands wrap around his cock and balls, jerking himself off to the rhythm set by Maxson’s cock until he comes with a long, drawn-out groan, splashing hot cum over his hand and stomach.

Arthur’s mouth opens in a silent moan when he reaches his own climax, hips stuttering, thrusting just shy of painful as he fills Danse’s ass, and still he is looking at him. Both are gasping for air when Maxson releases the other’s thighs and bends down to rest his forehead against Danse’s.

They both wince when Arthur pulls out and nestles himself between the former Paladin’s thigh, blanketing him with his own powerful body. Hands stroking each other’s face between kisses.

“It’s time,” Arthur mumbles.

“For what?”

“To stop running away.”

Danse’s heart starts to pound in his chest, this time not from lust but fear.

“Arthur…”

“When I leave in the morning, you’re coming with me.”

Danse feels light-headed when he says, “Where are we…”

“Home.”

A whimper escapes the former Paladin’s throat. “I  _can’t._ ”

Arthur kisses him again, swallows all protest with his lips before he says, “I tried. Believe me, I tried so hard to hate you.”

Danse sobs. “No, please…”

Arthur cradles the other’s face between his hands. “I’m Elder and I say you’re a Paladin of the Brotherhood of Steel. My most loyal, most faithful soldier and  the man I…”

“The tenets…”

“Can be rewritten.”

Danse eyes widen. “What?”

“When I take on the Institute, I can’t think of anyone else I want by my side. I know at least half the soldiers feel the same.”

“I’m a  _machine_ , Arthur.”

“Do you love me, Danse?”

He can’t think, can’t breathe, yet somehow a single word escapes his mouth, and Arthur smiles at him before he kisses him within an inch of his life.

“Let’s go home.”

“Yes.”

The End


	5. Wanna dance? - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: teasing, rough sex, public sex, anniversary sex, love

Danse is sitting on the rickety bar stool, nursing a beer – his third so far. He shrugs and squirms because civilian clothing always make him feel as if he is wearing a costume, and he knows he is no actor. But coming to the Third Rail in Power Armor without backup would be a bad idea, and he may be feeling sad but not suicidal.

It’s been a year since their first kiss, which is also incidentally the anniversary of their first fuck, because one thing had let to another, and well, here he was, in the Third Rail of all places, dressed like a peasant clown, alone and forgotten.

Beer always starts to taste better after the third, he muses and orders another one from the My Handy manning the bar.

“Here you go, mate.”

Danse grunts his thanks and downs half the content in one go. Finally, a slight buzz starts and the world is staring to feel a bit softer around the edges.

“Hey, big guy, buy a girl a drink?”

A slender hand is on his shoulder and a pretty face appears in his field of vision. Well, why not?

He motions to Whitechapel Charlie and tosses a few caps on the counter.

“Thanks,” the woman beams at him as she wraps her lips around the straw. She puts the cocktail on the counter and leans against it and into Danse’s personal space when she asks, “Never seen you before, you come here often?”

Danse sniffs and takes another draft before he glances at her hand out of the corner of his eyes which is now resting casually on his forearm.

“Just passing through.”

“I thought so. I’d have noticed you. Definitely!” She emphasizes the last word with a lick of her lips, raking her eyes up and down Danse’s body. He feels like a pound of meat and unconsciously leans away from her – she either doesn’t notice or care.

The music changes to a local favorite. The hand vanishes from his forearm as she claps in delight. “Oooh!” she exclaims and puts on puppy eyes when she asks, “Dance with me?”

“Nah, sorry,” Danse replies quickly and she pouts before her eyes narrow.

“Honey stood you up?”

He looks at her in surprise. How did she know?

She must have read his mind because she says. “You look real nice and yet you sit here alone, drowning your sorrow.” She gestures toward the empty bottles lining up beside him.

He clicks his tongue and says nothing.

“Look, I’m not proposing marriage here, just a dance, a bit of fun. Come on, you deserve it!”

She is right, he does deserve it, besides the tune is really catchy.

“Yay!” She gives him a bright smile when he slips off his seat and they walk out onto the dance floor – or at least the open space in front of the stage.

He twirls her around and she laughs. He steps on her toes more often than not but she only giggles.

“Maybe I should lead?” she suggests.

“Uhm, maybe…”

“Mind if I cut in?”

The voice is a low rumble next to Danse’s ear, sending shivers down his spine.

The woman looks at the newcomer in shock. 6 foot 4 of solid muscles and piercing blue eyes seem to skewer her. Her eyes dart from the burly man in the military slacks and green t-shirt to her dance partner and back before her lips part in a silent gasp and she hastily retreats back to the bar. 

Danse doesn’t move. He stands like a statue even as the man drapes his arm around his waist and takes the Paladin’s right hand into his left. As if the universe has planned it, the music changes to something slow and sensual.

“Where were you?” Danse growls at Arthur as they start to slowly sway to the tune.

Maxson smiles, “I got held up. You know how it is.”

Danse knows how it is, but it still pisses him off. Without another word he grips Arthur’s hand tighter and pulls him up the stairs and out into the open air.

Maxson has to nearly run to keep up but he doesn’t resist. On the contrary, he has to suppress the urge to cackle. Danse face is a thundercloud and it’s such a turn on.

They ignore the wolf whistles and lewd remarks as they round a corner until they are in the dark alley behind the Memory Den. Danse pushes Arthur roughly into the wall.

“You fucking ass! Make an excuse next time. You know how I hate this place.”

Arthur does laugh then but Danse cuts him off. The kiss is not gentle, all harsh lips and tongue and teeth. He pulls Maxson’s hair, making the younger man moan into their kiss.

“Yeah, I know. It pushes all your buttons, doesn’t it?”

“Turn around!”

Arthur gasps when Danse hands spin him face first into the wall, and then yanks at the belt and buckles of his slacks. He rips them down together with Maxson’s brief. The palm of his hand comes down on Arthur’s bare ass cheek. The crack echoes off the walls together with Maxson’s moan.

Danse fumbles with his own belt and fly, shoving his trousers and briefs down just enough before he spits into his hand and gives his dick a few tugs. His other hand slips behind Arthur’s balls and up.

“You’re fucking slick!” Danse growls and pushes two fingers into the other’s ass at once. “Did you plan to get fucked? Hn?”

“You know me, I like to be prepared!”

Arthur’s laughter turns into a whine when Danse doesn’t waste any more time and pushes into him until he bottoms out.

“I should fuck you so hard, you can’t sit for a week, you little shit!”

“Fuck yes!”

Their shoulders are heaving. Danse’s teeth clamp around Arthur’s neck, one hand squeezing Maxson’s throat as he starts to draw back and slams back in.

Arthur’s head falls back onto Danse’s shoulder as he is fucked into the wall. He tries to reach for his cock but Danse tightens his hand around his lover’s throat in warning.

“Don’t you dare, you fucking prick!”

Maxson wheezes, spots are dancing in front of his eyes. This is so filthy and hot and exactly what he wanted. The sound of flesh on flesh bounces off the walls. Danse teeth break through the skin on Maxson’s neck as he thrusts into him just shy of painful, once, twice. Arthur feels the pulse of Danse’s cock inside him when he fills him with his cum.

“Danse!”

“You know what I want!” The other man growls.

“Fuck!”

“Do it, Arthur!”

“Please, you fucking bastard!”

“Close enough!”

Danse slips out of him and moves for Arthur to turn and lean his back against the wall. Maxson’s cock is flushed and hard and dripping precum. Danse has enough presence of mind to pull up his slacks before he goes down on one knew and wraps his hand around the base of Arthur’s dick before he sucks him into his mouth.

Arthur’s hands are in his hair, spurning him on as Danse kisses his fist with every movement of his head. He knows when Arthur is ready from the way his hips start to move and the grip on his hair makes his scalp sting. He let’s go and allows Arthur to fuck his mouth. He is choking on cock and it’s hot and so, so good when Maxson spends himself down his throat with a hoarse shout.

A few moments later, Danse falls back, sitting on the grimy floor while Arthur is still trying to catch his breath. He is grinning down at the Paladin who is glaring up at him as much as a man can glare after a thorough fucking.

“Happy anniversary!” Arthur laughs and holds out his hand. Danse takes it and let’s the younger man pull him back onto his feet. He steps closer until his body is flush against Maxson’s.

Their noses are touching. “Admit it, you did this on purpose.”

“Of course!” Arthur grins.

“You’re an asshole, Maxson.”

“Yeah. I love you too.”

The End


	6. I almost lost you - Arthur/Danse/Female Sole Survivor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: gore, blood, angst, feels, love - ok for work

The warm blood from the severed carotid artery splashed onto Maxson’s face. The synth’s body sacked backward and crumbled to the ground.

“Ad Victoriam!” The words a barely audible gurgle as Danse drowned in his own blood. 

A woman wailed. 

Arthur sat bolt upright in bed. He was drenched in sweat, shoulders heaving. 

_“Just a dream.”_

Next to him, Claire made a discontent sound in her throat when her precious source of heat vanished, and rolled over in her sleep as Arthur slid out of bed. Under other circumstances, he would have admired the smooth curve of her spine and hip just visible under the thin sheet, but not tonight. Not after that dream. 

_“No. A nightmare.”_

Arthur put on his slacks, boots and slipped into his coat, bare-chested, nerves too frayed to look for his shirt and in no mood to struggle into his BOS suit. He made sure his matches and cigarettes were in the right pocket before he sneaked out of his quarters. He needed some air. 

The first cigarette was calming; he smoked the second just out of habit. The wind was howling, and even through his reinforced battle coat, Maxson could feel the icy chill it brought. 

_“Just a little longer,”_ he thought as he tried to chase away the images of him executing - murdering - his most trusted soldier. _“It didn’t happen. Claire stopped me,”_  he reminded himself, still feeling the red, hot blood on his face.  _“It was so real…”_

When the door to the forecastle opened and shut with a creak, even audible over the wind, Arthur turn this head, expecting a soldier on guard duty in search of a quiet spot to slack off for a few minutes. What he didn’t expect was to see the face of Paladin Danse. 

The cigarette fell from suddenly numb fingers. With a few strides, Maxson stood in front of the other man and pushed him against the door. Before Danse could open his mouth, Arthur pressed their lips together. 

After he had overcome the initial shock, Danse’s hands wormed into the coat and pulled Arthur against him. “Fuck, you’re freezing,” the Paladin gasped between kisses. 

“Hn,” was all Maxson grunted in response. He felt light-headed. Until this moment he had not been certain, had not believed. The images had been too vivid like a glimpse into another reality. A reality where he had done the unspeakable. A reality where Danse was not his. But his lover’s warm arms and lips chased the demons away. 

_“Just a nightmare!”_

After a few minutes, Danse finally fumbled for the door behind him and pulled Arthur into the Prydwen. 

“Hi,” the Paladin smiled. “That’s a nice welcome home.”

“Hi, I…”

Danse eyes narrowed. “I was looking in our quarters but Claire mumbled something about you sneaking out very suddenly. I searched for you until Wilson said he had seen you go this way. You okay?”

Arthur leaned in and stole another kiss before he replied, “I am now,” and leaned into the warmth of Danse’s palm cupping his cheek.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing. Just a bad dream. Needed to clear my head.” 

“Wanna tell me about it?” 

“No. I…it’s just…”

Maxson looked into Danse’s eyes. They were no different than any other humans. Claire had been right when she had said Danse was an asset to mankind, not the enemy. He had been so blinded by his fear and hatred, it had taken the woman he loved to throw herself in the line of fire to make him realise what a fool he had been. 

When Danse’s identity as synth had been revealed, it was like a knife to Maxson’s soul because everything he had thought was true, couldn’t be, because he loved Danse, had loved him for a long time, but never said a word. How could the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel love a synth and stand? 

Quite happily it had turned out after Claire Monroe had taken matters into her capable pre-war hands and - metaphorically - hit Arthur between the eyes until he saw the light. It was only after Claire had saved their lives that he had taken both of them to his bed. Still, the thought of what might have happened still terrified him to the core. 

“I almost lost you,” Arthur admitted through clenched teeth, still angry and raw. “If Claire hadn’t stopped me that day, I would have killed you.” Arthur felt ashamed of himself, of the idiot he had been. Could you feel guilty for  _nearly_  making the worst mistake of your life? 

Without another word, Danse pulled Arthur into a tight embrace and kissed his hair. “Arthur, you know I would have gone to my grave with no regrets.”

“That’s the worst part - don’t you see?” Arthur tried to step back but Danse refused to let him go until Maxson sighed in frustration, his words muffled by Danse’s shoulder. “I’ve led the Brotherhood down a path where we have become our own worst enemy. A bunch of close minded fools who senselessly destroy out of fear instead of trying to help humanity recover. It took a pre-war vault dweller - a bloody miracle - to make me see it. What were the odds, Danse? What were the odds she would love us both enough to save us from ourselves - what were the odds of her existing in the first place?”

“I don’t know. But I’m damn glad she did. And if she hears you talking so much fucking shit about yourself, you know what she would say?”

“You got better!” came Claire’s voice from somewhere close by. 

Arthur and Danse turned in surprise to see Claire Monroe leaning against the bulkhead, dressed only in the t-shirt Arthur had been unable to find earlier and her boots. She stepped forward and reached for Arthur who smiled at her sheepishly before she kissed him.

“Silly man! Next time wake me properly, so I can tell you, you’re an idiot and don’t have to walk through half the ship in my knickers to do it, alright?” 

“Yes, ma’m.”

Danse hugged Arthur from behind and rested his chin on the younger man’s shoulder. “Shall we go back? I’m still kinda wired, and I missed you both a lot.” 

“We missed you too,” Arthur and Claire said in unison before Arthur added, “Let us show you exactly how much.” 

The End


	7. I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified - John Hancock/Female Sole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: fluff, feels

“Welcome back, sunshine.”

Hancock’s voice is the first thing she hears when the world comes rushing back at her. Too bright, too loud. She has no idea where she has been but she’d liked it there. It was warm and safe. She wants to go back so badly. Eyes drifting shut, she is already slipping away.

“Oh no, no, no, don’t you do that again! Here, let me help you up.”

She grunts in protest when she feels strong, boney hands and arms helping her sit upright. She doesn’t want to, but is too weak to resist.

“Yeah, that’s better. Stay with me, okay?”

John wants her to stay? Good old John Hancock! What would she do without him?

The mayor of Goodneighbor, one of the first friends she has made in the early days after she’d left the vault. For a scoundrel, he is incredibly reliable, trustworthy and cares so much about other people, it borders on self-denial.

In many ways, he is the antithesis of the Brotherhood, who talks about helping while all they do is take: tech, supplies, and expect to be thanked for it.

Hancock talks about helping and just does it, and wants nothing in return except a little bit of understanding and respect. Granted, both are in short supply in this fucked up version of reality, but as far as Nora is concerned, he has earned hers thrice over.

She can feel him sitting next to her on the bed, propping her up with his chest. It feels like any other man’s chest she has ever leaned against for support. Solid, warm, and maybe she nuzzles into him then just a tiny bit.

And maybe it’s her imagination, but she thinks he is holding her just a little bit closer. Perhaps he is right and she should try and wake up instead of going back to the happy oblivion she was lost in.

It’s a challenge to keep her eyes open, but she tries, tilting her head to look up at him. She has to blink a few times before she can focus. 

“John?” Her throat is so dry, even uttering a single word hurts. But it’s worth it because it makes him smile.

“Yes, it’s me. How’re you doing? You gave me quite a fright there.”

His face radiates calmness but his voice sounds hoarse, shaken.

“Are you alright?” Nora asks and can feel him chuckle in response.

“Don’t you worry about me, I’m right as rain.”

Still holding her tight, he twists around before he presses a can of water into her hand. Nora tries to lift it but it is John who holds it to her lips in the end, helping her drink.

Each gulp seems to pour life into her. By the time the can is empty, she can almost sit on her own. But there is something soothing to have someone else carry her weight for a while, and she knows John doesn’t mind, so she leans into him a little more.

She can feel his breath hitch and almost pulls back but he instantly tightens his arms and hugs her. With a content sigh, she snakes her arms around his waist under the red coat, her head tucked under his chin.

Thumb thumb, thumb thumb. The very human heart in his chest seems to beat faster.

“John?”

As if he can read her mind, he replies, “Yes. I’m terrified.”

The second he says it, she understands. She doesn’t know why, but all of a sudden the puzzle pieces fall into place. Weeks of dancing around the obvious have come to the inevitable conclusion.

She does pull back then and he lets her, reluctantly it seems, hands gliding along her back and arms until he can take her hands into his. He is looking down where they are still joined.

“John, look at me,” she asks gently, but Hancock squeezes his eyes shut, so she adds, “please?”

He does it then. A ghoul’s eyes betray nothing, but she can see it anyway.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“I think I love you too.”

The End


	8. Marry Me? - John Hancock/Female Sole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: feels, character death

“John?” Her voice is weak, unseeing eyes grope for his hand until his fingers slide in between hers, and she sighs. 

“I’m here, love.” Hancock brings the back of her hand to his mouth and kisses it. 

“I’m so cold.” 

There is a fire roaring in the fireplace in their hut. Windows and door barred, and two quilts cover her frail body, but nothing can fend off the icy touch of death. This is one of the rare moments when the former mayor of Goodneighbor wishes he could still cry, but his tear ducts withered away a long time ago, so he has to be content with the pain in his heart. 

“I’ll keep you warm,” he presses out between clenched teeth, and brushes his cheek against her knuckles.

The woman he loves and has loved for the past twenty years is lying on her deathbed. And there I nothing he can do save sit and wait and keep her company until the end. 

“John?”

“Yes, my love?” 

“We had a wild run, didn’t we?” 

He cackles, “Yes, we sure did.”

“I don’t want it to end,” Hayley looses the battle she’s been fighting against the tears and cries. Heart wrenching sobs echo his own anguish. He leans forward and kisses her temple, her hair, and finally her lips. Even after all these years, her kiss is still as sweet as their first, and it’s selfish but he wants nothing more than to make love to her one last time. Show her with his body how much she means to him, how much she is a part of him. It’s impossible now, but it doesn’t stop him form wanting her all the same. 

“Fuck, I wish I could point a fucking gun at death and tell them to shove it up their ass!” she growls through her tears. 

John laughs, “Hayley Marcus, you’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. I love you, and I always will. You have been the light of my life, and the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And if anyone could give death a run for their caps, it’s you.” 

“You bet, I’ll give it my best shot!” 

They laugh despite their heavy hearts. Twenty years of romance will come to an end by dawn. They both know she won’t make it until sunrise, but these last few moments are theirs, and theirs alone. There is no Commonwealth and no responsibility now, only two people in love. 

“John?”

“Hm?”

“You know how we’ve always joked about this day?”

“I do. Although I’ve to admit, it’s not funny at all any more,” he admits. 

Hayley snorts, “It sure ain’t. But, John, do you remember that night after we took them down? The night at the Castle?” 

John looks into the fire as if the flames are keeping his memories. He smiles and nods until it occurs to him that she can’t see it and says, “Yes, bits of it. That night was wild!”

Hayley smiles. “I made you a promise that night.”

Hancock’s tilts his head, mouth twisting. He really can’t recall much at this point. Their had been fireworks, drinks, dancing, fucking and…oh. 

Her smile widens into a cocky grin as she feels the tension through their joint hands. 

“Now, you remember. So, how about it?”

Hancock leans forward and kisses the stupid grin off her face. Trust Hayley Marcus to surprise him even on her deathbed. 

“Yes,” he whispers in between kisses. 

“Yes?” 

“Yes, I will marry you.” 

She wraps her hands around his face and says, “Then, by the power invested in me, by myself and I, I declare us husband and wife. May I kiss the groom?”

“You may, Mrs Hancock, you may.”

“I never said I’d take your name,” she quips and adds, “But, I admit I kinda like it.”

*~* 

He buries her at their favourite spot with a good view of the Commonwealth all the way down to Boston. It’s a lovely day with blue skies. 

Her epitaph reads: Hayley Marcus Hancock - beloved wife, ass-kicker and saviour of the people. 

The End


	9. Took us long enough - Danse/Male Sole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was also # 32 - “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”
> 
> Tags: first kiss, love

Danse stared at his reflection in the mirror.

“I…” he began and faltered. Defeated already before he had even begun.

The muscles in his jaw flexed angrily as he started to apply the shaving cream, bits of foam hitting the mirror. He tossed the brush in the sink and picked up the razor.

Nate’s.

Danse admired the blade, testing it with his thumb. Sharp, a beautiful memento from before the war, just like its owner. It had been a gift when Danse had moved in.

He couldn’t tell from looking because of the foam, but Danse felt the heat rising in his cheeks as it always did lately whenever his thoughts strayed to the former vault dweller.

Nathan Lewis had accepted him wholeheartedly for what he was even before Danse had himself. He had stood in the line of fire, defying the orders of the Elder, just to keep him alive because Nate saw him as a man and a friend, not a soulless machine.

It had taken weeks during which the Institute had been reduced to rubble and they had watched together as the Prydwen had departed due south back to the Wasteland – Nate holding his hand the whole time when he had cried, standing on the roof of the Red Rocket – but in the end Danse had come to terms with his existence.

He had woken up the morning after the Brotherhood had left, and for the first time since that awful day, had seen a man looking back at him in the mirror.

Nate happened to walk past the door, catching Danse’s eyes in the reflection. He had paused and grinned at him.

“Good morning.”

In that moment, Danse had forgotten how to brush his teeth, or breathe, just staring into Nate’s eyes, realizing two things – that he was a man, and that he was deeply, utterly and hopelessly in love, and had absolutely no idea what to do about it.

He had never felt anything like it before. He wasn’t sure whether it was something in his programming or whatever, but it was exhilarating and terrifying in equal measure. He only new he had to do  _something_ , and soon, or he would lose his mind.

He finished his ablutions and put on his cleanest shirt and trousers before hitting the road to the Red Rocket over the bridge where Nate lived most of the time. The former vault dweller had given his former residence in Sanctuary to Danse when he had needed a place to stay.

“I feel weird, sleeping in here anyway,” Nate had confessed, and not accepted no for an answer. Weird feeling or not, he came by most mornings anyway, either to have breakfast or ask Danse to go out scouting with him. It was a rare day when they didn’t spend time together.

“I…we need to talk,” Danse muttered under his breath as the Red Rocket came into view. “I…fuck! I sound like an idiot!”

Before he could rehearse any further, he spotted his friend pumping water into Dogmeat’s bowl.

“There you go, buddy!” Nate said, patting the dog on the head before he turned and saw the former Paladin.

Nate stopped in mid-motion, seemingly frozen to the spot as he watched Danse approach.

“Hi, are you…”

Danse never finished the sentence. With two long strides, Nate stood in front of him, took his face in both hands, and smashed their mouths together.

It took Danse a second to get over the shock before his hands fisted in the front of Nate’s shirt, pulling him closer, his lips opening to let the other’s tongue inside. They moaned into the kiss.

“I…gods Danse, I Iove you,” Nate confessed.

“I…yes. I mean, I do,” Danse cursed, “Gods fucking damnit, I love you, Nate.”

“I didn’t know what to do, I was so scared you didn’t-,” Nate murmured before Danse kissed him again.

“If I ever needed proof that I’m a man, I think this is it,” the former Paladin groaned when Nate palmed his hardening cock through his trousers.

“I never doubted that, not for a minute” Nate replied, eyes dark with lust, fueling Danse’s own.

When they drew apart, Danse said, “Let’s go inside, I want to show you how human I really am.”

“Fuck yes, took us long enough,” Nate chuckled before he dragged Danse through the door.

The End  


	10. Well, this is awkward - Deacon/Cait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: comedy, mild terror, kissing

“Hey, not to make you nervous or anything, but that Supermutant up there looks like he might  _actually_  have eyeballs – in his own head, not on a string around his neck like the other ones – and we’re kinda in his line of sight here.” 

“If you keep yacking at me, it’ll take even longer, y’know?” Cait drawled as she fiddled with the lock, which at this very moment decided to give in. 

“There you are.” Cait jumped to her feet and mock bowed to Deacon who was wearing a tuxedo and sunglasses of all things. “After you, sir.” 

“Oh no, after you,” he returned the gesture and ignored her annoyed, “Tsk,” as she strolled past him into the building. 

The inside was quiet and stank of mothballs. The dust of centuries lay in thick layers on all the shelves and paraphernalia like a shroud. 

“I wonder why no-one’s been here yet?” Cait mused as she browsed along the glass cases. “Looks like there might be some good shit lying about.”

“Not sure, but I have a weird feeling about this place,” Deacon muttered as he took the safety off his 44. 

“So, what’s it McLeod actually wants us to get here?” Cait asked before she resumed chewing her gum with industries enthusiasm. 

“A device,” Deacon hissed, “and can you please stop doing-” Cait popped the gum, “-that!”

“What?” Cait called back, and did it again.

“You’re hilarious. Really. If I hadn’t promised myself to the…” The words died on his tongue as he saw the shadow crawl along the far side wall. 

“Promised yourself, what?”

“Shhh,” Deacon whispered and motioned for her to come closer. 

She gave him a look, put her hands on her hips, and said, “What? No! I’m not…”

“Cait!” Deacon muttered hoarsely between clenched teeth. “There’s something behind you.”

Something about the way he said it made her freeze up. She slowly turned her head to glance over her shoulder, and saw nothing. 

“You fucking bastard, I almost peed my knickers,” she cried.

“Honestly, I saw something. A huge shadowy…thingy,” he replied, but even he wasn’t so sure any more he had seen it. 

Cait threw her arms in the air in frustration. “Let’s just get the fucking  _device_  and go home.” 

“Cait, I wasn’t lying,” Deacon tried again, she just shot him a pointed look. 

“Not this time,” he added lamely. 

“What does the thing look like?” 

“It was huge with claws and…oh, the device? A bit like a fancy egg.” 

“So, like your head, then?” she quipped.

“Yeah, only with less loose screws, I reckon,’ he smiled back.

“Shouldn’t be too difficult, let’s go.” 

They smirked at each other as they began searching the downstairs.

After a few minutes, it became clear it had to be either in the cellar or upstairs. 

“Let’s split up, I’ll look in the cellar and you can…what now?”

Deacon was shaking his head. “Nah, I’m almost 68% sure I saw something earlier, and I might need you to hold my hand. We’re going together.”

Cait raised an eyebrow and huffed before she walked toward the cellar door, muttering something about lying scaredy cats under her breath, which was why she missed the return of the shadow creature, this time by the front door. 

“Cait!” Deacon whispered urgently. 

She was ignoring him, busy trying to pick the lock to the door. 

“Cait” Deacon tried again.

The thing was coming closer. 

“Fuck it!” 

With two strides Deacon was beside the former cage fighter and dragged her backwards into a conveniently placed ancient wardrobe. 

He let her go with a gasp when she bit the hand over her mouth hard enough to draw blood, and turned on Deacon to give him a piece of her mind. 

The thing was hovering just outside. Desperate times, called for desperate measures. 

“I’m so sorry,” he hissed before he cradled her face in his hands and smothered any complaints with his mouth. 

Cait meeped into the not-quite kiss. Out of the corner of his eye, Deacon saw the creature jerk its huge head around. 

Scared out of his mind, Deacon squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his tongue between Cait’s still protesting lips. She kicked him in the shin – it hurt like hell – but he held on for dear life. 

The creature grunted.

Maybe she had heard it, too, or maybe Deacon was just that good, but whichever it was, Cait’s lips began to move with his, tongues brushing together. Their breathing got heavier, someone moaned into the now definitely kiss.

After what seemed like a long time, Deacon lifted his head and peeked outside. “It’s gone for now!” 

“What?” Cait asked, slightly dazed. 

“The thing – it’s gone for now, but I think we better go back to General McLeod and tell him he has to come and get the device himself – maybe bring Strong and MacCready, and the Minutemen, too. Or even Garvey, if he can find him. The guy has been scarce lately – did you notice?” 

He knew he was babbling. He couldn’t help it. It was his coping strategy. As long as he could hear his own voice, he was pretty sure he wasn’t dead.

“Deacon?”

“Yeah?”

“Give me my fucking gum back!” 

“Oh.”

The End


	11. Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me? - Arthur Maxson/Male Sole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: tears, regret, broken hearts

“Leave us,” the Elder ordered the guard “Make sure no-one enters until I’ve given the ok.” The soldier saluted smartly and closed the heavy door behind her. When it shut with a clang, the figure, hunched in the corner, lifted his head. 

It was dark inside the cell, only illuminated by an emergency light above the entrance. Maxson could barely make out the other’s features in the gloom, not that it was necessary, he would be able to paint them with his eyes closed.

It stank of ammonia and old sweat – unpleasant odors – but nothing to a man accustomed to the pungent aroma of Power Armor and close quarters shared with a few other hundred bodies.

“Here to empty my bucket, Arthur? I’m honored.” Knight Gareth Miller, former inhabitant of Vault 111 and its sole survivor, drawled.

Maxson scoffed and sauntered closer until he could squat down in front of the prisoner. 

“How are you doing, Gareth?” 

“Just fine, I was considering getting an Ivar but then decided it would clash with the lack of anything else,” Miller elaborated and then sighed when he caught Arthur’s puzzled frown. 

“Pre-war reference – sorry, I still can’t help it. Maybe that’s why we didn’t work out? My IKEA jokes are lost on you.” 

Arthur grunted in response. “Are you even aware how serious your situation is?” 

Miller leaned closer until he could whisper in Maxson’s ear. 

“If you’ve decided to kill me, then do it, asshole, and spare me your self-congratulatory rambling. You won. There, I said it, are you happy now?”

Arthur’s hand grabbed the front of Gareth shirt, “You committed high treason. You disobeyed my orders, sided with the enemy, and tried to blow up my ship while I was inside. Any one of these offenses would carry a death sentence. But all of them together? No, dying is too good for you!”

The corner of Maxson’s mouth curved into a savage grin when he saw Miller’s throat clench as he swallowed. 

“My, my, is that fear, Gareth – from the man who once told me he had nothing left to be afraid of in this world?”

Both of Miller’s hand pulled his shirt out of Maxson’s grip. He fell backward on his bottom.

“My, my, did the world just end – again – because I could swear you just smiled at me. That would be a first,” Gareth sneered. 

With a growl, Maxson jumped forward, wrestling the prisoner onto his back, straddling his thighs. He trapped Miller’s wrist in his hands and leaned over until the other’s breath ghosted over his skin. He suppressed an involuntary shiver. 

“Don’t you dare pretend I felt nothing for you! Don’t you fucking dare!”

Gareth handsome face twisted into a bitter grimace, the cocky facade cracking. 

“Fuck you, you asshole! You used me! Like Shaun, like all the others. Only with you, it was a lot more hands on.”

Maxson struck him then, Gareth head twisted to the side from the blow across his cheek. Arthur screamed at him, fists pounding the floor next to Gareth’s head.

“I fucking loved you, you piece of shit! I loved you, and you threw it back in my face. You played me for a fool and tried to kill me! You tried to destroy  _everything_!”

The scream faded into a sob. Arthur’s forehead came to rest in the crock of Miller’s neck who was still lying motionless underneath him, looking at the wall. Only when he felt the wetness on his neck, did he raise his arms, pulling the younger man closer by his shoulders. Arthur didn’t resist. 

“Why can’t I stop? Please, make it stop, Gareth!” Maxson pleaded. 

“I wish I could,” Miller whispered back, eyes stinging with tears. 

They lay like this for several minutes until Arthur pulled back with a sniff, wiping his face with the sleeve of his coat. He closed his eyes and drew a shuddering breath. 

“Arthur…”

“Don’t!” Maxson said coldly and got back to his feet. 

Gareth sat up, but didn’t dare look at his erstwhile lover. He had done what he felt was right, but all he had achieved was to make a bad situation worse, dragging everyone with him into the pit of despair. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur.”

“Yeah, me too. Tomorrow morning, you’ll lead the Brotherhood assault against the Institute.”

“What?” Gareth looked at him then, eyes wide. 

“I told you, dying was too good for you. You’re still the best person for the job. You’ll lead us, and you’ll succeed. And you’ll help us kill absolutely everyone inside – no exceptions – before we blow it all to the heavens so that even the Gods can see it.”

When the words sank in, Miller whispered, “Thank you, Arthur. For giving me a chance to make up for-”

“Don’t thank me! When we’re done tomorrow, make sure I never see your face again, or so help me, I’ll finish you myself.” 

Without waiting for a response, Arthur turned on his heel and left the room. Tomorrow would be the day of reckoning, and with any luck, when all was said and done, he would finally be able to move on. 

The End


	12. You heard me. Take. It. Off. - Arthur Maxson/Male Sole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: smut, love, sexual frustration, bossy Arthur

Ben felt happier than he had in months because the world finally made sense again. Joining the Brotherhood had definitely been one of his better ideas since he had crawled out of Vault 111. 

The routine fit him like an old boot. He had friends he could trust, and as an unexpected bonus, he had fallen in love. The head over heels, butterflies in stomach, chest pounding, head spinning kind of love. 

His mother had taught him to always meet a challenge head on. -  _“You may have long legs,_ _boy,_ _but Bellamy’s don’t run, so whatever or whoever, either fight_ _em_ _or fuck_ _em_ _.”_  - Words to live by, although Ben had turned out to be more of a fighter than a…yeah. But that was only until he met…

“Bellamy, a moment please!” Arthur shouted into the corridor. 

“Yes, sir,” Ben replied but then added, “but can I maybe get-”

“Now, Knight!” Maxson barked, holding the door to his quarters open. 

The second the door closed, Arthur mouth was on him, backing him into the wall. Ben squeaked into the kiss when the cold metal of the bulkhead came into contact with his bare skin.

Bellamy pushed against Maxson’s shoulders although he may as well have tried to push the Prydwen for all the good it did him. 

“Arthur, I’m only wearing a towel and a smile, and I remember distinctly you said something about needing to be discreet?” 

“Yes, you’re right, you’re wearing too much. Take it off.” 

Ben’s chuckle turned into a groan when Arthur’s mouth found the sensitive spot under his ear and sucked. 

“Seriously, people will talk. Aren’t you worried-”

“Ben,” Maxson lifted his head to look at him, “take the damn towel off and get on the bed, or I will before I fuck you against the bulkhead. Your choice.” 

The towel was on the floor before Arthur had finished his threat. Ben climbed onto Maxson’s bunk on all fours, looking over his shoulder and watching his lover tear his own clothes off – seams ripping – a button flew through the air and pinged off the metal table with the strategic map of the Commonwealth.

“Fuck, what got into you?” Ben laughed. He had just returned from a three-day tour with Danse and headed straight for the shower instead of checking in with Arthur first. Maybe that had been a mistake. But then again, maybe not. 

There had been heat and passion – something wild – between them from the get go, but Ben had never seen his lover like this before. It was fucking hot. 

“Three days – that’s what!” Arthur hissed, pouring oil from the nightstand over his hand before he pushed two fingers into Ben at once, twisting until Ben buried his face in Maxson’s pillow to stifle a moan. 

“Three fucking days – I thought I’d go mad,” Maxson growled. “What have you done to me?” 

“I…fuck, do that again…I have done nothing. You…you were the one…ahhh…”

“I could go weeks without,” Arthur complaint, emphasizing each word with another thrust against that spot inside Ben’s ass, reducing him to a whimpering mess. “Weeks, Ben, and now all I can think about is you and your mouth, your cock, and your greedy ass for me to fuck. Fuck, Ben, I can’t wait any longer.”

“I missed you too, Arthur!” 

When Knight Bellamy turned up for lunch the next day, with a huge grin and slight limp in his step, Danse merely raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Hey, Danse, let’s make it five days next time.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s going to be worth it.” 

The End


	13. The Paint Job - Danse/Male Sole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was also “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” 
> 
> Tags: Fluff, broody Danse, cocky sole (secretly a sweetheart), romance

“Civilian you have ten seconds to tell me where it is before I will have to resort to excessive force. 1…” 

Paladin Danse was not happy. 

“2…”

Actually, Danse was livid. He had spent the night in Sanctuary on the behest of one former vault dweller also known as Knight Silas Delaney, bane of Danse’s life, only to find empty space in the morning where his precious T60 should have been. 

“Hey man, do I look like Mama Murphy? I have no…”

“3…”

Danse grabbed the front of MacCready’s shirt and dragged him closer. 

“…where your shitty…woah, hold it. No need to get fu…damn physical, you have to buy me dinner first!” MacCready struggled in Danse’s grip. The tip of the sniper’s boots barely touched the floor. 

“10!” Danse pulled his fist back. 

Suddenly, Deacon materialized next to the Paladin’s elbow. 

“Hey, Danse, if you’re looking for your Power Armor, I think Silas borrowed it a few hours ago while you were still sleeping,” he explained, and flinched when the Paladin’s brown eyes seemed to skewer him. “Wow, you’re  _angry_ ,I’m guessing he didn’t tell you?Man _,_ that vein on your temple is pulsating really fast, that’s not healthy.”

The soldier dropped MacCready like a bag of fertilizer and pushed past the Railroad agent when he growled, “You know what else isn’t good for anybody’s health?”

“Borrowing your Power Armor without permission?” Deacon guessed. 

“Affirmative! Which way did he go?”

“That way,” Deacon and MacCready said in unison. 

Danse glared at the sniper, “You said you didn’t know!”

MacCready shrugged, “Yeah, maybe it’s because I don’t like you.”

The Paladin clenched his teeth, grabbed his laser rifle and stalked across the street toward the bridge leading out of town. Delaney couldn’t have gone far yet. 

As expected, tracking turned out to be a piece of cake. Power Armor leaves rather distinctive marks in the dirt. They first led to the Red Rocket, and then west toward Abernathy Farm. 

“Hey, Delaney, suit up!” Danse muttered out loud while he followed the trail, remembering the scene right before they had boarded the Vertibird on the Prydwen. 

“Nah, I’ll be fine. - No, really, Knight, as your CO I’m telling you… - You worry too much, Danse. Besides, you can’t ogle my ass if I hide in all that metal. - LIKE I’D FUCKING WANT TO!” 

Danse  _did_  want to, but he could barely admit that to himself yet. He would rather die than tell Delaney. The bastard was too cocky by half, and would tease Danse incessantly. No, better to repress and focus on their mission. Safer and saner that way. 

“I’m going to kill him. No, I’ll take him to Maxson, have him demoted, and then throw him off the Prydwen – Initiates don’t have access to Power Armor. That’ll teach him a valuable lesson, albeit a short one.”

“Looking for me?” 

Without thinking, the Paladin turned toward the voice, gun ready. 

It should not have been possible to surprise Danse but Delaney had stationed himself just so, blending seamlessly with the shrubs and trees. 

“Fuck, I almost killed you!” Danse shouted, lowering his rifle. “And what have you  _done_?”

“Surprise! Do you like it?” Silas asked and turned around to give Danse a 360° view of the new paint job. 

The Paladin gaped at him. He had never seen anything like it. It was almost prefect camouflage for the Commonwealth environment.

“How did you do that?” Danse asked, slightly awed, circling the armor.

“Found a Hot Rodder in Qunicy. What do you think? Come on, admit it, you’re impressed.”

“Take it off!” Danse commanded. 

“Not until I’m sure, you won’t punch my lights out,” Silas replied, taking a step back, hands raised.

“Knight? Take. It. Off.” 

Something in Danse’s voice left no wriggle room for negotiation on the subject. Delaney tried anyway.

“Promise, you won’t touch me!”

The demand was greeted by broody silence and complementary stare. 

“Before I do it…”

“NOW, soldier!”

“Fuck, okay!”

Silas took the helmet off first, dropping it on the ground, before he hit the eject button. The suit creaked as it unfolded and allowed its passenger to reluctantly leave the protective cocoon. 

Delaney was dressed in a mechanic jumpsuit, splattered with paint. His auburn hair stuck up in odd angles; there was even paint on the bridge of his nose and his goatee. 

Danse glanced around, they were alone. No sign of any threat whatsoever. He leaned his rifle against an armored leg before he moved toward the Knight. 

Silas shuffled backward until his back connected with a tree trunk that mother nature and the apocalypse had forgotten to get rid off for him. He was half a head shorter than Danse and build like a long distance runner. But there would be no running now. 

The Paladin stepped right into Delaney’s personal space and lowered his face, eyes narrowed, their noses almost touching.

“Do not  _ever_  take what’s mine without my express permission, have I made myself clear, Knight?”

Delaney nodded emphatically. He flinched when Danse raised his right hand.

“What…what are you doing?” 

The taller man carefully used his thumb and experimentally wiped the splatter on the other man’s nose. But the paint turned out to be just as stubborn as the man it was sticking to. 

Danse sighed. “Hopeless.” He gave up and pulled his hand back, slowly, the fingertips brushing Silas’s cheek who was looking at him wide-eyed, worrying his lower lip.

“Hey Danse?”

“Before you ask, I do like it, a lot” the Paladin admitted. “But you can’t just always do what you want, no matter your intentions. Do you understand me, Knight?”

“Uh-hm. What if I ask nicely first?”

Danse eyed him warily. “I’ll consider it.” 

They were still so close, the Paladin could see the golden ring around the former vault dweller’s irises before they mellowed into a honey brown. 

“There is something of yours that I want, rather desperately,” Delaney admitted.

“Out with in, then.”

“Your lips on mine?”

The End


	14. Wait a minute. Are you jealous? - Deacon/Hancock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: kissing, implied sex, friends with benefits

It had started with a misunderstanding, of sorts. And as these situations go, one thing had let to another, and the next thing Deacon knew, he had the major of Goodneighbor resting on his chest, smoking a post-coital cigarette.

“Well, I admit, I didn’t see this coming,” Deacon informed the ceiling. 

Hancock’s snort turned into a raspy cackle which prompted the spy to add, “Pun very much not intended,” which only made John laugh harder.

Deacon swore and shoved the ghoul aside before he climbed out of bed in search of his jeans.

“How the fuck did you end up there?” he asked the item in question which was hanging over a broken ceiling fan.

“Leaving so soon?”

Deacon looked up when he got his trousers on. Hancock was lying on his stomach, chin resting in the palm of his hand.

“Ah, I’ve things to do. Spy stuff. And as fun as this was, I’d very much appreciate it if we could not repeat this – ever.”

Hancock sighed and rolled onto his back. “You always say that, sugar, and you always come back for more.”

“That was- I didn’t know- I have to go,” Deacon stuttered as he struggled into his shirt. He didn’t bother with the buttons, grabbed his boots and almost ran out of the door, Hancock’s laughter following him all the way down the stairs.

*~*

“See you in the morning, ‘kay?” Nora gave Deacon a peck on the cheek before she quickly walked away.

“Bye,” he muttered, touching his face where her lips had caressed his skin.

“Come on, look!” he whispered under his breath as he watched her go.

“Just one look, go on, you want to!” It sounded like a suggestion – not that she could hear him – but was indeed a wish. One that was promptly fulfilled when Nora glanced over her shoulder one last time before she smiled and vanished into her house.

“Yes!” Deacon punched the air in victory, twirling around his own axis. “Fucking, yes!”

“Having fun?”

He froze in shock when he saw Hancock lean against a wooden beam nearby. Even in the waning light, there was no mistaking the silhouette for anyone else’s.

“Been a while, hasn’t it?” The ghoul remarked as he pushed away from the post and sauntered closer.

Deacon had to fight the urge to take a step back. His throat seemed awfully tight all of a sudden, making swallowing hard, not that there was anything left to swallow; his mouth had run dry the second he had seen the other one.

“Oh, hi! Uhm…how’ve you been?” Deacon’s voice went for casual while his body went for panic. He could feel the sweat on the back of his neck trickling all the way down to his butt crack.

John walked right into Deacon’s personal space until the spy could smell the mentats on the ghoul’s breath. It reminded him of the last time they had seen each other, and done things to each other, and then done them again. And again. And it had been good. But wrong. Wronge-dy wrong wrong.

He had sworn to himself not to repeat his past mistakes, and been quite proud of himself when he had managed to not go back to that place to do things. And stuff. What one did in the privacy of one’s own bunk when alone and horny was nobody’s business and didn’t count, besides thoughts were meant to be free.

Then things with Nora had started, and he had all but forgotten about his glitch with the major of Goodneighbor. Well, maybe not forgotten, more repressed. But it was getting harder – wrong phrase – more difficult to repress when said major was breathing the same air as you. And was touching you when he took off your sunglasses to look into your eyes. Deacon blinked against the light of the sunset.

“Is that why you have not been back?” Hancock gestured toward Nora’s house without looking.

“I…wait,” the spy narrowed his eyes, “did you…did you actually miss me?”

“…Maybe.”

“Aww. That’s so sweet but…”

“Yes,” Hancock admitted, cutting off the flippant remark the other man had ready on the tip of his tongue. “I miss you.”

Deacon’s mouth dropped open. “Wow.”

“Yes. Quite,” John agreed.

“Well, I’m flattered. I really am. We did have lots of fun. I’m man enough to admit that.”

“Uh-hn. What is going on between you and her?” Hancock gestured toward Nora’s house again.

“That’s privileged info…Wait, are you here because you’re actually jealous?”

Deacon watched the muscles in Hancock’s jaw work before the ghoul looked at him and said, “Yes.”

“Just to clarify, of her or of me?”

John snorted, dropped Deacon’s sunglasses and pulled the other man into a kiss. The spy made a surprised sound in the back of his throat, fists clenched at his sides. He tried to resist, he really did, but Hancock was making it difficult when one of the ghoul’s hand snaked around and gave Deacon’s ass a firm, possessive squeeze.

When they pulled apart, the spy was panting. “Yeah, you missed me, alright.”

Deacon wasn’t sure but he would bet his eyes were glazed. His trousers had become uncomfortably tight, and he didn’t know why, but there was something about Hancock that drove him to distraction, derailing his thoughts and making him want to fling himself into the abyss like a moth to the flame.

Where Nora was a cooling sea breeze, John was a bonfire – both had their merits, but it very much depended on the weather which one might prefer.

“Do you love her?” Hancock asked seriously.

Deacon looked at his feet and then back to Nora’s house. When he looked back at John he decided, for once, honesty was the best course of action.

“Not yet, but I might.” It had been very bright and sunny lately.

To his surprise, Hancock looked away and took a step back.

“Then, I won’t stand in your way,” he said, turned around and walked away. Deacon watched him go, slightly stunned at this sudden change. The sun was gone and it was starting to get chilly.

“Hey, John,” he called, knowing full well he would regret this come morning.

The ghoul stopped but didn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“Wanna have drink at my place?”

Hancock did turn then, “You sure?”

No. Not at all. But, fuck it. He never liked being cold.

“Yes, I am.”

The End


	15. Checkmate - Arthur/Female Sole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompt asked for Arthur Maxson to go down on sole sitting on the edge of his desk.

“Come back to bed.” 

“Can’t. Go back to sleep. I won’t be long,” Maxson replied, his eyes still fixed on the terminal screen, the only light source in the room, giving it an eerie green glow. He could hear a sigh followed by the rustling of sheets.

Arthur blinked when the lamp on his bedside table was switched on; the reflection of the bulb now obscuring the right upper corner of the screen. 

He grunted and was about to turn when clever hands touched his bare shoulders and began to knead the tense muscles. Morgan’s lips were close to the shell of his ear, her warm breath tickling his neck. 

“You always say that, and it’s always a lie.” 

Maxson groaned when she pressed her thumbs into a particularly tender spot. His head dropped forward, encouraging her to continue with what she was doing.

“You’re a mess,” she said, no seduction this time, just a statement of fact. 

“We’re in the middle of a war,” he sighed. 

Morgan stroked his skin one more time, hand gliding up his neck, before she stepped around and - facing him - insinuated herself between Arthur’s arms. She was wearing one of his dark, green t-shirts which was several sizes too big for her, exposing one freckled shoulder. 

Arthur looked up and smirked. Her short black hair was sticking out at odd angles, giving her an impish look despite the grim line of her wide mouth. 

“You’re beautiful,” Arthur said softly and chuckled when she huffed. 

“Come back to bed.” 

“I can’t. Sorry.” 

Morgan wrinkled her nose. “Liar. You’re not sorry at all.” 

“No?” Arthur asked, feigning innocence. He enjoyed her surprised gasp when his hand scooted under the hem of the t-shirt and stroked upward. Her mouth softened instantly, lips parting in a silent moan when Arthur’s fingers pushed aside her panties and began to circle her nub.

“Come back to bed,” she pleaded, her hips moving into his touch.

“You’re not going to let me work, are you?” 

Morgan smiled at him. “Somehow, I don’t think you want me to.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Arthur asked and dipped a finger inside her wet heat. 

Morgan glared at him defiantly - the effect somewhat ruined by the delicious blush spreading across the bridge of her nose - before she batted his hand away. When he cocked an eyebrow, she reached under the shirt with both hands and pulled before wriggling her legs until her panties landed at Arthur’s feet. 

They stared at them and then at each other. 

Arthur’s chair scraped across the floor when he stood up. A strong arm coming around Morgan’s waist, lifted her onto the edge of the desk, leaving her bare feet dangling over the ground. 

Arthur dipped his head and kissed her hungrily, his hands stroking up her thighs, catching the hem of the shirt. He interrupted the kiss only to pull it over her head and out of the way. 

Morgan’s hands were in his hair, pulling gently as their lips met again. She knew Arthur liked it when she was rough with him, when she showed him what she wanted. One of her hands came to rest on his shoulders and pushed down, encouraging him. 

Obediently, his mouth left hers. His tongue leaving a wet trail along the pulsing vein in her neck and down, down. He briefly caught one of her nipples between his teeth and bit until she gasped. Her legs tightened around him and squeezed until he let go. 

“You think this is funny, don’t you?” she asked through clenched teeth. 

Arthur smirked up at her, biting his lower lip. 

“Get on your knees, soldier!” 

Morgan enjoyed the sight of Arthur swallowing and biting back a moan. He watched her watching him as he sank down. There was something deeply satisfying about seeing a man who commanded an army go down on his knees for you. 

He looked up at her as if awaiting more orders. Slowly, Morgan lifted her legs onto his shoulders and said, “Now kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’m.” 

But instead of following through, Arthur moved his head, brushing his beard along the soft skin of her inner thigh. 

“I can never decide whether this is really good, or really ticklish,” she gasped which turned into a chortle when Arthur did it again, only much faster. 

Her laugh turned into a moan when he suddenly moved forward, his lips kissing her core, giving her no time to adjust, to think, only to feel. An ambush of sorts, clever and cunning and calculated to throw her off balance. With Arthur, eventually everything turned into a game of chess, and he really didn’t like to lose. 

He had studied her reactions at great lengths during previous encounters. When to lick, to suck, when to pull back until she was close to giving into his need to hear her say the words. Morgan bit her lip to keep quiet, stubborn and proud and foolish, because this was exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to suck on her clit before flicking his tongue over it again and again. Wanted his fingers to play with her ass while her ate her out. 

But Arthur knew exactly how to toy with her, how to tease her with his tongue and lips, until she thought she would go mad, until she couldn’t keep the words inside any more. 

“Please. Please.” 

She felt him grinning against her. Felt his victory but it didn’t matter any more because her legs tightened around his head when the white heat rolled through her like a tidal wave. 

When she came down from her orgasm, Arthur was humming against her wetness, tasting her one more time, making her shiver before he got back on his feet. He kissed his way up her belly, between her breasts until he thrust his tongue into her mouth. 

Morgan smirked against Arthur’s lips when he gasped into the kiss. She had wormed her hand between their bodies and pressed her palm against the hardness in his trousers. She rubbed him through the fabric until she could feel a damp patch forming at the tip. 

“Come back to bed, Arthur,” Morgan whispered against his lips and tilted her head back with a frustrated groan when Arthur just shook his head. 

“I really can’t.”

He pulled her hand away and took a step backward, his cock straining against the confinements of the slacks. Morgan licked her lips. She was half lying on his desk, her back resting against the cursed terminal screen. She opened her legs wider.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. 

“But what about-“

“My punishment,” Arthur replied, “for making you wait for me tonight.” 

Damn him! Damn you, Arthur! He had just made her come, and now she couldn’t even bitch about having to go to bed without him because he had somehow turned it into a sanction against himself. Checkmate.

“Suit yourself,” she growled and got off the desk.

To her surprise, Arthur came with her when she walked back to the bed, lifted the covers and tucked her in. He bent over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. 

“Good night,” he whispered and switched the bedside lamp off. 

In the gloom, she watched him sit down again in front of the terminal and go back to work. 

She could still feel his mouth on her, his tongue, his hands, the warmth of his body and despite the blankets, she felt cold without him. 

Just before her eyes drifted shut, she thought, “You’re a strange man Arthur Maxson. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.” 

The End


	16. Jealousy - Danse/Curie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt - "Why do you keep staring at them." - I had so much fun with this.

A polite cough from his right made Danse glance over and scowl. It was the robot turned synth - he hesitated to think of her as an abomination. There were synth who were clearly the enemy, and then there was this…this…with the smile, and the kindness, and the accent - the beer was making him stupid. 

She coughed again. 

“Can I help you?” Danse grumbled before taking another sip. 

“Well, monsieur. I couldn’t help to notice you were paying a great deal of attention to what Madame Nora and Monsieur MacCready were doing on the settee by the far wall tonight,” Curie lilted at him. 

“No, I wasn’t. I was in fact contemplating strategies to further fortify Sanctuary’s northern border. And north happens to be where they are sitting. And besides why would I care that she has her hand on his thigh and he his touching her chin with his filthy civilian fingers?” 

Curie just smiled a bit harder at him.

“Well, I don’t!” Danse growled and resisted the childish urge to stick his tongue out at her. 

Something about her reminded him of the lady - Mrs Robinson - who had taught basic math and letters to the orphans in Rivet City. She had had the same accent, and twelve-year old Danse had vivid memories of the fact that the two middle buttons of her blouse kept coming undone when she was talking animately about… stuff. Honestly, he hadn’t paid much attention to what was being said once puberty had started

“Well, if you want I could help you, monsieur. After all, I have studied this kind of behaviour at great length while I was waiting for someone to release me from Vault 81.”

“You have? How?” Danse asked, curious against his better judgement, but at least the conversation was distracting him from the couple - fuck, MacCready was toying with her zipper now. The nerve of this…

Curie’s voice interrupted what could have ended in a messy altercation had Danse continued with his train of thought. 

“There was a lot of archival footage of pre-war interpersonal relationships set in a fictional and often romantic setting. I believe you are experiencing what is called - jealousy.” 

Danse slammed the bottle on the table in front of him. Nora briefly looked into his direction but he was now too busy being mad at the medic to even notice. 

“I am not-”

“Shhh,” Danse eyes widened when she leaned forward and put her fingertips against his lips. Her hand was surprisingly soft, not calloused from physical work or handing guns like most women he had known. 

Curie slowly pulled back, “Not so loud. You wouldn’t want to draw attention to your state now.”

“And what state is that?” Danse asked bewildered. 

“Your pupils are dilated from arousal - anger or sexual - I cannot say at present without further examination. But your whole body seems tense, ready to erupt like a volcano. It’s quite - Comment dites-vous, encore? - titillating.”

Danse slowly blinked at her. “Hn?” 

“I might have meant interesting,” she pondered. Danse couldn’t help notice that the top two buttons of her shirt seemed to be undone as well. 

_“Coo coo ca-choo, Mrs Robinson.”_

Goosebumps spread over Danse’s ams, as a pleasant shiver rippled down his spine. He could feel the fine hairs on his arms stand up. They weren’t the only thing that was trying to stand up at this point.

“May I suggest a perhaps unconventional solution to your current predicament?” Curie asked, leaning forward into his personal space in a conspiratorial way. 

“Uh…yeah?” 

“According to my research the best medicine for jealousy is to give as good as you get,” Curie suggested almost coyly. 

Danse swallowed so audibly, Nora and MacCready must have heard it at the other end of the room because now he could feel Nora’s eyes on him, but for some reason he couldn’t quite bring himself to be overjoyed by this at the moment. 

His eyes drifted from Curie’s lips down her throat down to the folds of her open shirt, full of promises for a man with the mind to go exploring. 

“Would you care for a little walk to my house? I’m sure I still have a holotape or two from the vault. We could cross-examine them to make sure I’m not giving you bad advice, no?” 

Danse glanced back at Curie’s face, her lips were shiny and slightly parted, cheeks flushed. He briefly wondered why she would want to help him out but then a much larger part of him decided it was unwise to disagree with a sound strategy when it presented itself. 

“Lead the way. I think you should stay on point, your instincts seem to be right on target.” 

Danse didn’t even hear Nora’s voice when she called after him before he left the bar. 

The End


	17. Waterfall - Rhys/Haylen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 15: “So, I found this waterfall…” 
> 
> Tag: wet sex, fluff, het

“Hey, Doc, you got a sec?” 

In her surprise, Haylen dropped the screwdriver onto the circuit board she had been working on for the past hour. 

“Oh fuck!” she cursed. 

Rhys’s voice still made her tummy flip every time, which was childish and stupid. He had made his feelings for her, or lack thereof, very clear. Why could she not get over him already and move on? So much had changed since those days anyway. 

Like a phoenix, the new Brotherhood of Steel had risen from the ashes of the Prydwen a year ago, more xenophobic and elitist than its predecessor. Haylen and Rhys had left this new organisation even before its incipiency, each for their own reasons. 

Each to follow the man they believed in. For Haylen it was Danse, and for Rhys it was Arthur Maxson. Together, Danse and Maxson were leading a new group called the Redeemers, dedicated to preserving pre-war tech and history, but also aiding those in need with their resources rather than hoarding it like ancient, spiteful dragons. 

“Woah! You okay?” 

Haylen’s head snapped up. “Fine,” she sighed and shoved the tech away from her. And because the universe seemed to have it in for her, it slipped off the table and cluttered to the floor. Haylen groaned and slumped back onto the metal stool behind her. 

“Not your day?” Rhys asked from the other side of the table. 

“…apparently not.”

“Let me make it better. Come! I want to show you something,” Rhys said softly, a tiny grin around the corners of his mouth. 

Haylen narrowed her eyes. “Where are we going?” she asked but followed him anyway. 

“Here,” he handed her a knapsack and shouldered one of his own. 

“Is this going to take long? Because I have-“

Rhys stepped closer and looked into her eyes. “Do you trust me?” 

Haylen let out an exasperated sigh. “You know I do.”

“Then let’s go.”

They followed an old radstag track through the wilderness and up into the hills. It got steep pretty quickly. It was hot and the air seemed to be as thick as sap. But Rhys pushed them onwards, only allowing for short water breaks here and there. 

He also remained stubbornly secretive about where they were headed, and in this heat, Haylen’s curiosity was swiftly replaced by annoyance. But every time she was about to protest, Rhys would look at her and smile. He never smiled. Not for anyone. So, she would grit her teeth and bear it, hoping against hope that it would be worth it in the end. 

She could hear it before she saw it - the sound of fast flowing water bounced off the rocky walls left and right on their narrow path. Suddenly, they stood on a ledge over a ravine, and at it’s northern end Haylen could spot the waterfall. White foam gushed down the side of the hills and plunged twenty yards below into a small, green lake. 

“It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. 

“Yes, very beautiful,” Rhys replied, looking at her. 

Haylen could feel her cheeks heating up. “Uhm… thanks for bringing me here. Can we get closer?” 

Rhys eyes widened and Haylen quickly added, “To the waterfall. Not…I didn’t mean-” She clamped her mouth shut. Rhys face was hot and flushed, probably from the hike and the heat, she thought. 

“Ah…uhm…I didn’t think you meant…” Rhys stammered before he cleared his throat and said, “We can get down from there.” He hastily pointed past Haylen toward the edge, which on closer inspection revealed a gravelly slope down to the bottom.

Sand and stones slipped under heir boots as they climbed to the ravine floor, stirring small animals from their burrows. Thankfully, they had not encountered a single hostile life form so far.

“Should we expect blood bugs?” Haylen asked, already unholstering her 10mm. 

“Don’t think so. I already killed everything and burned the nests when I came here yesterday. Better save than sorry, though.”

They did a quick sweep of the area and found nothing. 

“The water looks so good,” Haylen sighed, dropping her knapsack on the shore. She sat down and began to untie her boots. 

“What are you doing?” Rhys asked with a nervous chuckle.

“What does it look like?” Haylen asked back, stripping off her jacket and top before she wriggled out of her trousers. 

“Oh gods!” Rhys exclaimed when Haylen stood in front of him in only her knickers and a white tank top. 

“I’m going for a swim,” she grinned and sprinted into the water. 

She didn’t turn around but heard the unmistakable struggle of a man trying to rip his clothes off behind her back, followed by a big splash. 

Even at its deepest point, Haylen could still reach the sandy bottom with her feet while her head remained above water. She dug her toes into the ground and sighed happily. 

She turned around just in time to see Rhys surface three feet away from her, spluttering before he swam closer. 

“Thank you,” Haylen smiled. 

“Don’t mention it,” Rhys muttered back. 

Haylen bit her lower lip. A lot had changed. Maybe…

She looked into his eyes when she reached down and pulled her wet tank top over her head. It landed with a small splash on the surface and drifted away. Haylen didn’t even care. All that mattered in this moment was that Rhys wasn’t making an outraged remark or walked away like he would have done a year ago. 

No, Rhys’s eyes seemed to grow darker as he waded closer, close enough for Haylen to see his lips slightly parting, his shoulders breaching the water surface with each rapid breath. The water was so clear - oh my god, he was naked. 

She looked at his face when her hands disappeared under the surface again and reappeared with her soaked knickers. Rhys reached out and took them out of her unresisting hand before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. 

“I’m sorry,” Rhys murmured against her lips. Haylen’s stomach dropped, still expecting him to let her go, to tell her it was a mistake. But instead he held her closer, his mouth finding hers again. 

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” he explained between kisses. 

Haylen rested her forehead against his. “I…,” lost for words, she stroked the nape of his neck. His hands wandered down to her ass and squeezed gently before he lifted her up. She could feel his hard cock brushing against her when she slung her legs around his waist. 

“Rhys…” 

They both moaned when Haylen finally sank down, taking him all the way inside. She rocked gently against him, aided by his hands on her ass. It was nice, sensual but neither of them had the patience for nice, not after months, no, years of wanting and waiting.  

“Let’s get out of here,” Haylen whispered, hips still moving, trying to grind down harder but the water was both her friend and enemy. 

“Hold on,” Rhys panted and walked them until Haylen’s back came to rest on a smooth boulder closer to the edge. Spray from the waterfall rained on them as Rhys started to move. Their voices mingled with the sound of the waterfall until they, too, tipped over the edge and for a few moments, the world was bliss. 

“I’m glad you changed your mind,” Haylen said as they lay on the shore on a blanket Rhys had brought in his pack, stroking each other’s drying skin. 

“Changed it a long time ago,” he murmured, his finger chasing a droplet which disappeared between Haylen’s breasts. 

She blinked at him. “Then, what were you waiting for?”

Still avoiding her gaze, Rhys fingers flicked over one nipple, pinching it lightly until Haylen gasped. 

Finally, he said, “It never seemed the right moment. We were so busy, first running for our lives, building the new base of operations, I don’t know. Ever since I followed you to join the Redeemers, I-“

“Followed me?  _Me_?” Haylen asked surprised. He did look at her then.

“Of course, you. It was you or the Brotherhood. And by that point, it wasn’t even a contest any more.”

“But, you said-“

“I know. I know what I said. I was scared, okay.”

“Scared of what? You know how I felt - how I feel about you!” 

“We were in the middle of a war and I couldn’t bear the thought of…  Look, it’s bad enough to lose a brother or sister, but losing the woman I love. I just couldn’t. I couldn’t, Haylen!” Rhys’s voice was almost a sob. 

It made perfect sense of course. Don’t let anyone in, so you can’t get hurt. 

“But what about my feelings? Or my skills? I can hold my own. I had your blood on my hands more often than I can count. Do you think so little of-”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Rhys pleaded. He reached for her and she let him pull her closer until their bodies were flush. 

Rhys spoke again while he peppered her face with kisses .“I was stupid. And you were right. We are doing good out here. I’m happy. Happier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

She sighed and stroked his back. “I understand but don’t you dare think for a second I can’t take care of myself, or so god help me, I’ll kick your ass.” 

Rhys chuckled. “Yes, ma’m.”

“Good.”

“Haylen?”

“Hm?”

“Will you marry me?”

Haylen went rigid. Rhys was holding his breath. For a precious moment all hung in the balance. 

“You can breathe again, you stupid oaf. I’ll marry you,” Haylen smirked, which turned into a laugh when Rhys exhaled and rolled onto his back to gulp in air. 

Still chuckling, Haylen crawled on top of him. “Let’s go home.”

Rhys reached up and cupped her cheek. “I already am.” 

The End


	18. Snow - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #11 “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”
> 
> Tags: fluff, snow, BOS, Danse/Maxson, UST

Danse smelled it in the air on the supply run before he made it back to the bunker. He looked at the sky and felt that telltale brush of icy wind - the harbinger of snow - and just knew it would be his last opportunity before spring to stock up on necessities. 

With a heavy heart he pulled the front door shut behind him and activated the turrets. But just when he had finished storing the last crate away, the defences kicked in followed by an eerie silence. 

A face appeared on the surveillance monitor and Danse’s heart leapt into his throat. It was Arthur Maxson. 

“Are you ready to serve, Paladin?” The Elder greeted him as he stepped out of the elevator.

“What?” 

Arthur smiled at him then, not a full blown grin, but the tiny lifting of the corners of his mouth. “You heard me right, are you ready to serve?”

“…Yes. I always will be but-“

“Grab whatever you need, we leave in five. Snow is coming.”

Danse tried but found it impossible to move yet. This couldn’t be real. This couldn’t possibly be happening. 

Words were forming in his throat and seemed to all but crawl up and out. “I’m still a synth, Arthur.” 

Maxson took a step forward. “I know, but you’re Danse first and…”

Their eyes locked, Danse could see the muscles in Arthur’s jaw clenching, trying to keep the words back but, ”I need you, soldier.” 

And like a magic spell, the heavy weight lifted for a moment from Danse’s shoulders. He found his legs almost moved out of their own accord through the bunker as he threw his few personal possessions into a duffle bag before following the Elder outside where the Vertibird was waiting to take them to Boston airport. 

*~*

It was the morning after and just as they had predicted, a thick blanket of snow covered the Commonwealth like a shroud. 

Danse had slept at the airport in a holding cell - with the door open. Arthur had wanted to take him to the Prydwen but Danse had insisted that he would feel better if he could stay on the ground on the first night and maybe talk in the morning. Arthur had reluctantly agreed. The few soldiers Danse had encountered had seemed happy to see him but it still all felt like a waking dream to him. 

He was still dressed in civilian clothing, sipping hot coffee out of a dented tin can watching the sunrise when he glanced up and spotted the soldier in full Power Armour taking a leap off the Prydwen. 

Danse swore he felt the Earth shake a little under his feet upon impact and his face contorted into a grin. Gods, he had missed this!

The soldier approached him swiftly, leaving huge footprints in the new snow. He stopped a few feet away form Danse before he took off his helmet. 

“That your new day-to-day now, Arthur?” Danse chuckled.

Maxson grinned at him, spread his arms and did a full turn, giving Danse the opportunity to ogle the Power Armour. It had a dark blue and orange paint job - brand new and gleaming. 

“You like?” 

“I like,” Danse confirmed. “It’s new, isn’t it?” 

“T1000 - full tungsten alloy, combat weave lining and quantum band com system. It’s the second one that has ever been made.” 

Danse told himself it was only drooling when it leaked out, but Arthur must have seen the glint in his eyes anyway. “Do you like it?”

He got an emphatic nod as a reply, Danse was now slowly circling the armour. His fingers twitched. 

“It’s yours!” 

Danse’s head whipped up. The hydraulics hissed, drowning out Maxson’s chuckle as he climbed out of the suit, wearing only his black BOS suit. 

“But why? Why all this?” Danse asked looking from Arthur to the suit and back. 

Maxson smiled and casually plucked the coffee mug out of Danse’s hand before taking a sip. They looked at each other for a long time. Arthur swallowed and grimaced at the taste before he threw the mug on the ground. 

“Because we are at war. If I can’t even afford to loose a bad man, how could I ever throw away my best?”

“Are things that bad? You even allow the enemy into your ranks?” Danse asked, surprised at his own bitterness. Arthur lowered his head and frowned. 

“He betrayed us.”

“What? Who-“ But as soon as the question was out, Danse knew who Arthur was referring to. 

“He saved your life and then went straight back to his son and took over.” 

Danse just nodded. “Nate never returned to the bunker. He said he would but-“

“He betrayed us and now he needs to pay.”

“But why?”

Arthur raked his hand through his hair. It had grown out a bit, the gesture dislocating a few of the otherwise tightly controlled strands which fell fetchingly into Arthur’s eyes, although he didn’t seem to notice or care. 

Maxson took a deep breath. “I’m not certain but whatever it was, he turned his back on the people above ground and now we’re sitting ducks, waiting for an attack we know is coming sooner rather than later. Liberty Prime isn’t ready and…well, look around you.” He gestured to the snow. 

“So you brought me back because you’re desperate and need expandable bodies to fight your war for you, is that it?” 

Arthur caught his eye again. “Do you think I would give someone I deemed expandable my best suit of Power Armour?” 

Danse frowned at his feet. His head was spinning. It had all happened so fast. One moment he wasn’t sure he would survive the winter on his own with his meagre supplies, and the next Arthur welcomed him back wth open arms and gifts like a modern age Santa Claus. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, A part of him couldn’t believe he would ask this but, “What if I say no?” 

Arthur’s eyes flew open. Clearly the option hadn’t even occurred to him. Typical! Always so sure of himself and his strategies. And damn him, he was right. Danse had been more miserable and lonely these past weeks than he had ever been in his life - at least the bits he was sure were his own. 

But the thing about time on your own was that you had a lot of it, and Danse had come to hate Arthur a bit for having discarded him so easily and then not coming himself to finish the job. That part had hurt more than anything. 

However, Arthur had come for him in the end, hadn’t he? Back then and now. Danse crouched down and pretended to rake his hand through the snow. He eyed Arthur through his long lashes. The young Elder stood with his head bowed, frowning at the ground, probably wondering where he had gone wrong, miscalculated and how to salvage what was left. 

“Hey Arthur?” 

“Hm? Wha-!” The snowball hit Maxson squarely in the face. “Danse, you-“ 

The second one hit him in the chest. 

“Oh, it’s on!” 

By the time they called a truce, they were both red from laughter and their lips blue form the cold. Danse had gotten more hits in but Arthur had won because he had managed to wrestle Danse to the ground and shove a fistful of snow under his shirt. Now they were lying on the ground next to each other and grinning like idiots. 

“Does that mean you’re back?” 

“What do you think?” 

Arthur propped himself up on one elbow. He held Danse’s gaze for a long minute before he whispered, “Please come back to me.” 

Danse’s heart started to hammer in his chest, They were so close he could see flecks of dark grey in the midsts of the blue of Arthur’s eyes. He swallowed before he replied. 

“Okay.” 

They stared at each other, Danse’s hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it reached out, his thumb brushing across Arthur’s lush lower lip. 

“There you are!” Ingram shouted, her power armour frame clanking with every fast step. 

Danse drew his hand back as if it had caught fire and both men jumped to their feet. 

“So, does that mean you’re ready to do some work, Paladin?” Ingram asked in her usual, charming tone. 

Danse felt Arthur’s eyes on him when he replied, “Ready for duty, Proctor.” 

Ingram sighed in relief. “Thank the gods, I need someone reliable who can get things done around here. Well, don’t just stand there. Get ready and suit up. We have tests to run, and then I have a million other things I need you to do if we ever want Liberty Prime back online.” 

“Welcome back, Paladin!” Arthur exclaimed, extending his hand which Danse took. They shook hands, all the while holding each other’s gaze, but Danse’s breath hitched when he felt the brush of Arthur’s thumb, a soft caress on the back of his hand, which stood in stark contrast to the otherwise firm grip.

When they let go, Arthur said.” Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed back on the Prydwen. But Danse, please report to my quarters at 2100 for a full debriefing, I believe there are some more matters we need to discuss in greater detail.” 

Danse nodded. “I will, and Arthur? Thank you!” 

Maxson smiled and turned away. Danse watched the Elder climb into a Vertibird, all the while rubbing the spot where Arthur had caressed his skin. He turned to look at the new Power Armour, the sun glinting off its shiny surface. 

He was home. 

The End


	19. Dads - Danse + Maxson's daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 35\. “I will always be there protect you.”
> 
> Danse + Maxson’s child
> 
> Tags: paternal love, hint at possible Arthur/Danse, mom not in the picture, no synth conflict, fluff

“Hm, I wonder where Claire could be? She’d better not giggle or else-“

A joyful chuckle was immediately audible from the little shag which sat in the branches of an old tree just a couple of feet off the ground. 

“Ah ha!” Danse drew aside the frayed curtain in front of the entrance and peaked inside. He smiled warmly when Claire squealed in delight and threw her arms around his head. 

“Permission to hug the Elder?” Danse asked although Claire was already climbing out and into his arms. 

“Permission granted, Sentinel,” the young girl replied anyway and hugged him tight around the neck. 

Danse hugged her to his chest and closed his eyes for a minute, still smiling. Moments like this were lifting his heart more than anything else ever had in his life. 

Looking back, he had had many moments when he had thought - this is it! But they all paled in in comparison to the joy he felt when he held Claire in his arms. 

She lifted her head and looked at him. “When did you get back?” 

“About two hours ago.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Always,” Danse confirmed and hugged her tight again, although this time she squirmed a bit. He sat her down on the threshold of her little den that he and Arthur had built for her earlier in the spring, her legs dangling in the air. Danse swore she had grown again in the past two weeks when he had been away on a mission. 

“Did you bring me something?” she asked, brown eyes shining with enthusiasm. 

“I brought myself back, isn’t that enough?” Danse teased, already pulling something from a knapsack he had dropped at the foot of the tree. 

She grinned at him like a little imp, knowing full well that he would have something for her. It was probably not good to spoil her like that but he just couldn’t help himself. 

“Here,” he handed her the box of Fancyladssnacks. 

“OH! You’re the best. Can I eat them now?” the girl asked, making Danse laugh. 

“Just don’t tell your dad I gave you a whole box, or else I’ll be in trouble!” 

Claire gave him a sly look. “Well, I might have to think about that,’ she mumbled around the sweets in her mouth.

Danse feinted shock. “You would resort to blackmailing a fellow soldier?”

She grinned at him with a chocolate covered face before she held the box out to him and asked, “Want some?”

He chuckled as he took one. “Thank you,” 

They enjoyed the chocolates in companionable silence for a few minutes before Claire leaned back and sighed. “I think I ate too much. Do I look green?” 

He eyed her critically and replied, “Yes, I think I do detect a slightly different colour in your cheeks.” 

He was thinking of chocolate brown because of the full body Fancyladssnacks devouring that had taken place, but Claire screamed, “Huh? OH NO. I knew it. I’m turning into a Super Mutant…Arrrrrgggg!” She jumped up and onto Danse’s back who stood up and pretend staggered around, making fighting noises between fits of laughter. 

They ended up lying on the ground next to each other, giggling. Whenever one had gotten themselves under control, the other would set them off again until they were both aching so much, they just had to stop. 

Still looking at the clear blue sky, Claire said, “I have never laughed so much in my life,” making Danse smile. 

“Me neither,” he replied.

Claire sat up and looked at him. “That’s not true! You laugh a lot with dad. You always make each other laugh.” 

“Well, I suppose we do,” he conceded. 

“All right then. Now-“

“Do you love my dad?” Claire asked out of the blue. Danse could feels his cheeks heating up. Was he that obvious? 

Nothing had happened yet but there had definitely been a shift in his friendship with Arthur in the past few months that neither of them was yet sure of where it was going. However, it must have been plain enough if Claire had picked up on it. 

But apparently she didn’t need any verbal confirmation because she said, “I wish you were my dad too. Then we could always be together and I would always have a dad by my side even when the other one is busy. My dad is busy a lot.” 

Danse chuckled nervously. Claire was still so young and he really wasn’t sure how to handle this conversation so he said. “What do you think dads do?” 

“Keep me safe and teach me how to fight, of course!” 

He smirked at her. “Well, soldier, I would be happy to do both these things not matter what. What do you say? Would you like to learn how to take out some molerats this afternoon?” 

“You’re the best, dad!” Claire screamed and then immediately slapped her little hand over her mouth, giving him a guilty look before she mumbled. “I meant Danse. Sorry.”

He reached out and gently pulled her hand away from her mouth, holding it for a moment when he said. “Don’t ever apologise for calling me that. Can I tell you a secret?” 

She nodded, eyes wide. 

“I love you like a daughter, so I guess it’s okay.” 

Without warning, Claire jumped into his arms again and Danse held her tight. 

“I love you too,” Claire mumbled into his neck.

That night they all had grilled molerats for dinner. 

The End


	20. I'm not scared - Danse + Maxson's daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same verse as Dads. 
> 
> Tags: paternal love, established Arthur/Danse, mom not in the picture, slight gore

“Are you ready, Initiate?” 

“Ready, Sentinel!” 

Claire couldn’t see it but Danse was grinning from ear to ear under the Power Armour helmet. It was her first tour as a Brotherhood Initiate. Like Arthur, being the child of the leader didn’t mean you got to skip ahead. You had to earn your place. 

Well, of course, not every Initiate got to be accompanied by a Sentinel, but then again, it was one of the perks of his rank to be able to pick and choose his missions. And he had chosen: accompanying my daughter for the day.

Danse had glanced at Arthur’s face when she had stepped out of her room in her uniform for the first time. Arthur had been all official and frowny, hands clasped behind his back, a stance which his daughter mimicked very often, but his eyes had given him away. They said more clearly than any words, “I love you and I’m proud of you.” Danse figured he probably had the same look on his own face. 

He and Claire were to scout a location for tech salvage - a routine mission - but Claire was taking it just as serious as if they had sent her to infiltrate a Super Mutant stronghold. 

“This place should be safe but keep your guard up at all times,” Danse reminded her and received a curd nod in response. 

They entered the bunker ruin through the front door. Daylight filtered in through a large hole in the opposite wall. By the looks of it, raiders and scavenger routinely used this as a shelter. It stank of booze and ammonia, not even the air filters in his suit could quite suppress the odour.  

“Bah, this is disgusting. Do people really live like this?” Claire asked, holding her nose.

“Some, yes. And it’s still better than what most others have,” Danse replied matter-of-factly. “Let’s do a quick sweep, by the book.” 

Claire obediently put her training to use and checked ever remaining metal husk for useful items. To Danse’s surprise she found a few fuses which looked still sound. 

“Well done, Initiate. Now let’s-“

“What’s this?” Claire wondered, her fingers brushing along a raised surface underneath a defunct console. She pressed on it. 

The back of the metal cupboard in the far end corner creaked open. Claire grinned at Danse who had already taken the safety off his laser rifle. 

“Looks like this got a whole lot more interesting, dad.” 

“Initiate!” 

“Sorry, Sentinel!” 

“You can call me Danse but don’t let anyone else hear you call me dad when we’re on duty.” 

“Can I call you what dad calls you, then?”

“What does he- No! And how do you even-? Nevermind, let’s be professional. But we’ll talk about listening to other people’s private conversations later - dads or not!” 

Claire just shrugged. Danse wasn’t even sure what she was referring to but Arthur called him all sort of things when they were alone, or at least when they thought they were. He knew Arthur would have views on that as well. 

_“Gods, I hope she means “soldier” and not-“_

However, he had to shove his paternal worries aside for the minute because there was a sound coming from the new opening in the wall. 

“Initiate, go outside. I’ll handle this!” Danse hissed.

Claire was about to protest but the sound was getting louder now, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She quickly mumbled, “Understood,” and followed her orders. 

She hadn’t quite stepped outside yet when the feral charged through the secret door. Danse took him out without breaking a sweat. But where there is one, there is usually another and sure enough two more tried to make their way through into the bunker. He easily dispatched of them as well when he heard the shout.

“AD VICTORIAM!” 

Danse bolted through the door into the open, just in time to watch his daughter pull out her 10 mm and fire at the attacking glowing ghoul. 

Time stood still. 

For a split second there were two futures. 

The first one was painful and raw. Danse saw himself carrying a small, broken body in his arms, his monitor steamed up from evaporated tears because he had been too late. He had broken his promise to Arthur, to himself, and to Claire to always keep her safe, only she had to pay the price for his failure. 

And then there was another. The one he saw unfold in front of his very eyes. Claire stood calmly, aimed and fired a whole damn clip into the monster’s head. It landed with a squelching plop in front of her boots. She looked down at it, almost deadpan - so very much like Arthur - when she calmly ejected the empty clip and reloaded. Just in time because the feral suddenly twitched, arm outstretched, grabbing for her leg. She blew its rotting brain to pieces. 

Claire looked up at him. “Tango down!” 

Danse remembered he had to breathe. He sucked a few shuddering breath into his lungs before he holstered his laser rifle and approached his daughter. 

“Are you all right?”

“Affirmative.” She smiled at him. “Can I…please can I be your daughter for a second?”

Hang protocol! 

Danse looked around and ejected from his Power Armour. He was wearing a black BOS suit, similar to Arthur’s. 

“Go ahead,” he said.

“DAD, DID YOU SEE THAT? DID YOU SEE IT? IT WAS AWESOME!” Claire jumped up and down and into his arms. He had never been more relived in his life to hold her close. It occurred to him that maybe there was a good reason why  parents were not supposed to be fielded with their children. 

“Yes, I saw,” he replied, his voice hitching. 

She pulled back and looked at him. “What’s wrong? Did you get hurt?”

Danse chuckled and raked his hand through his hair. “No. No, I’m fine. But-“

“What?” 

He looked into her beautiful brown eyes, so full of life and for a spilt second, the other future was there, and those eyes looked at nothing. 

“I was scared!” He finally admitted. 

Claire looked at him and patted him on the arm before she replied, “Don’t be, dad. This time I’ll protect you.” 

 _“Hang protocol,”_  Danse thought once more before he pulled his daughter back into his arms and kissed the top of her head. 

“I love you, Claire.” 

The End


	21. Next of kin has been notified - Arthur/Danse (unrequited) tw: character death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From my Festive prompt list, "If you try to fuck me then I shall fuck you too."
> 
> Tags: Danse, Arthur Maxson, male!SS, character death

“So what is it you want to tell me,  _General_?” Arthur muttered as he tore the envelope open. He knew who it was from. The address was a dead giveaway.

_To that arrogant son-of-a-bitch Elder Maxson – personal_

When Maxson shook the folded paper open, something slipped out and onto the floor. Arthur picked it up and turned it over. His lips parted in a gasp, heart hammering in his chest. A treacherous thumb caressed the cheek of the man in the photograph before he could stop himself.

He had to tear his eyes away from the face to focus on the words on the page.

Congratulations on your victory, Elder.

Let’s not beat around the bush, you succeeded where I failed. Despite my efforts to organise a joint assault, you went ahead and did it without our support. You turned a deaf ear to the pleading for the lives of innocents as you’re want to do. I hope you rest easy with so many souls standing in the shadows by your bedside, shouting for justice.

Alas, I hear you put a bullet in my son’s brain before you blew the damn place to smithereens and I thank you for that small act of mercy. No matter his crimes, I hate the thought of him dying like that, not the blast but trapped by rocks, unable to escape, unable to breathe until he would have suffocated or worse, died of thirst. I’ve seen it and it’s a hideous way to go. But I’ll get to that.  

I’m writing because I wanted you to know that the Paladin you ordered me to kill for the greater good, he survived. After you had disappeared, I patched him up and drafted him into the Minutemen.

But no matter what we accomplished, he never stopped believing in you, never wavered. Always upheld your fucking stupid tenets and never stopped annoying me with them either.

Would you believe it? He monitored your radio signals and secretly charged in and assisted your squads – putting his own life on the line for them, no, for you. Because for him, it was always about you. That man you discarded like a broken toy, he loved you, but I think you knew that all along, didn’t you?

And as much as it galls me, since you’re the one he loved, I’m considering you his next of kin, and I’m writing to formerly tell you that Danse fell in battle – three days after you destroyed the Institute, or so we think.

Because he was there, Arthur. He was there killing whoever stood in your way, whoever tried to get a lucky shot in at you. He was there. He saved your life, of that I have no doubt. And when you flipped the switch with him still trapped inside because he could not relay out, his last words will undoubtedly have been for you.

We searched for bodies, hoping for survivors, hoping against hope to find him alive. It took us ten days to dig to the hollow he had crawled into. You see, he wasn’t lucky enough to die instantly. I will spare you the details because you spared my son the same fate but the last thing Danse did was scribble, “Ad victoriam,” on the wall with his blood.

How a bastard like you can inspire that kind of devotion, I will never understand. But there you have it.

I have enclosed a photo of him, so you know I’m not taking the piss. He was alive and he was with us in body if not in mind because his soul belonged to the Brotherhood, to you.

I hope looking at him one last time will be as painful for you as it was for me to carry him out of there and to his final resting place.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go hug the people I love and once your Brotherhood is gone, we’ll build a future for the Commonwealth based on trust and love – the two things you’ll never truly have.

With deep contempt,

Nathaniel Brown

General of the Minutemen


	22. Christmas Light - Cait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt request: "If possible can you fill Where is the booze? And I don't sing in one? The person I had in mind right away was Cait but it can be anyone :3"
> 
> Tags: Cait, overboss!ss, I bet you didn't see this coming, PG

Laughter rang out of the clubhouse in Sanctuary where the Christmas celebrations were in full swing. Cait stomped her heavy boots on the porch to get the snow off. 

“Fucking white menace,” she cursed under her breath. 

Baseball bat slung over one shoulder, she pulled the wooly hat off as she pushed the door open and was immediately greeted by loud, drunken cheers.

She blinked at the gaudy fairy lights glittering around the room and sneezed a few times because the air in the club was warm and smokey.

“The one and only Caaaaaiiiit! Merry Christmas!” Deacon shouted from the bar, which was echoed with an ear-splitting chorus of ‘Merry Christmas’ from every soul in the room. 

“Bloody hell, you’re all pissed, and without me! Did you at least leave me any?” she growled at the assembled crowd who just laughed and pushed her toward the bar where a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass materialised in front of her. 

She grinned at that, uncorked the bottle with her teeth and filled the glass to the brim. She was about to knock it back when Nate appeared next to her.

“Heeeyyyy, beautiful! How was the trip?” 

Cait eyed him over the rim before she downed the booze and slammed the glass back on the counter. 

“Great! Delivered the goods. Got paid for the goods. Now I’m back.” 

“That’s my girl,” Nate smiled as he stretched out his hand. 

Cait bit back a snarl as she reached inside her heavy coat and pulled out a fat purse full of caps and dropped it into his palm. Nate seemed to weigh it for a moment before he pulled her into the crock of his neck and pressed his forehead to her temple. 

“Awww, you always come through for me,” he chuckled, planting a short kiss on her cheek. 

It took every ounce of willpower not to flinch or, God forbid, take her trusty bat and bash his brains out. Instead, she forced a smile and said, “You know me. I always deliver.” 

“And you’re just in time for the Christmas carols!” Nate cried with enthusiasm. “I bet you have a wonderful voice.”

This time Cait gave him a shove. He was either too drunk or too indifferent to comment. He just looked at her with his head cocked to one side. 

“What’s the matter, little bird. Cat got your tongue?” He laughed at his own joke and gestured with his bottle to his newest, one-eyed companion at the other end of the room who had been trying to get Nate’s attention.

Cait didn’t like that new guy one bit. He had danger and raider scum written all over him in big, fat, blood red letters. He was kind of old, too. And old raider spelled smart. And smart raider spelled big trouble with a capital T. 

“We’ll chat later, doll. Time for a sing-song!” he yelled at the crowd who all agreed. Someone pulled out a guitar from somewhere and Deacon had an accordion of all things. Cait briefly wondered what disguise he needed that for. 

But it seized to matter when the music started playing and the voices united in a rendition of Silent Night. 

Cait snatched the bottle and looked around the room one last time before she pushed her way through the crowd and into the cold, clear air. 

She took a deep breath and briefly closed her eyes. When she opened them she gazed at the stars and for the first time in a long time, murmured a prayer to a God she barely believed in. 

Her feet let her down to the North gate next to the house she shared with three others who were all currently singing Christmas songs with the man who had once been their saviour but now…well. 

“Hey, Laura, I’ll take watch, you go get yourself into the warmth before you freeze your tits off.” 

The sentry turned and looked at Cait in surprise. “What about you? Didn’t you just come back from an errant for the boss?” 

“Yeah, Christmas ain’t my thing. Go on, off with you.” 

Laura smiled at her, “I owe you one,” before she stomped up the street. 

Cait watched her leave in the waning light. When the other woman was out of sight, Cait went back to her porch and picked up a storm lantern from a crate underneath the front window. 

As she marched back to the raised wooden guard post, she started to sing under her breath. 

 _Le coinnle na n-aingeal tá an spéir amuigh breactha,_  
Tá fiacail an tseaca sa ghaoith ón gcnoc;  
Adaigh an tine is téir chun na leapa:  
Luífidh Mac Dé ins an teach seo anocht.(1)

She crouched down and managed to light the match on first try. The flame danced until Cait closed the little latch. 

“Time to kick some arse!” she muttered and straightened up, lantern held high.

Five minutes later an old friend stepped into the light. 

“Hello, Garvey. Ready to kick some raider ass?” 

“Ready as ever, General.” 

The End

1\. The song is Oíche Nollag (Christmas Eve) - [lyrics](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fcarollingineurope.wordpress.com%2F2007%2F12%2F24%2Foiche-nollag-christmas-eve%2F&t=NTY0ZTc3ZWM0ODc5ZTgxZDcyMWE1YTM0ZjFjYzZmOTExMmY4OWExOSxZejM1a3NsSA%3D%3D&b=t%3ADO--tBpAoiQUb-qw6-4rGA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fsyrenpan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F154863525330%2Fif-possible-can-you-fill-where-is-the-booze-and-i&m=1) and [melody](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DjY2gCIXmz-o&t=OGE2OGY0MGE5Njg5YjU5NWFhNzAzMDlkNzc3YmZjZjdkMDMzZDZmOCxZejM1a3NsSA%3D%3D&b=t%3ADO--tBpAoiQUb-qw6-4rGA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fsyrenpan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F154863525330%2Fif-possible-can-you-fill-where-is-the-booze-and-i&m=1)


	23. Ink - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maximumrevolution on tumblr posted [a tattoo image](https://www.instagram.com/p/BHzqNGaBF_q/) which served as inspiration for Arthur Maxson - tattoo artist 
> 
> Tags: needle under skin, tattoo, Arthur/Danse

“Relax,” he says and smiles at me one last time before he starts. My shirt is lying somewhere on the floor but it’s warm in his quarters – it always is.

The little motor hums to life and I tense. It’s stupid – we have done this half-a-dozen times already. I take a deep breath. “Hmm.”

The first few minutes are always the hardest before the mind pushes through the pain. Before the trance settles in. Before it feels good.

Arthur knows this of course, so he talks to distract me. “Do you remember the first time we did this?”

I smile. “Yeah. How could I forget? You were rather persuasive.”

“Whatever possessed you to get that hideous tattoo in the first place? You never said.”

“Yeah, I did. Drunken bet.”

I can feel Arthur lifting the needle and his eyes on me, just for a moment. “I mean the real story.”

My smile slips off my face.

Maybe it’s time?

“I… I got it in Rivet City. After Cutler.”

Even over the machine I can hear the sharp intake of breath from Arthur, then the needle is back on my skin. “Tell me.”

Maybe this was it?

“I went to that dive in Rivet City near the market – always stinks to high heavens – and got pissed. Got into a fight. Won the fight. Got patched up and drank some more. Bandage around my knuckles came off. My blood had left a pattern on the rag like an angry eye. A mutant’s eye – and you’ll think I’m crazy – but I held it, and looked at it, and it winked at me.”

“That does sound pretty fucked up, yes.” Arthur snorts.

I shake my head as if I can’t believe I’m really telling him about the mystic eye and how I thought it was a sign from my dead friend. I tell Arthur how I stumbled into that old, toothless lady’s tattoo place. There was a chicken laying an egg on the rug just as I stumbled in. She made a fuss because I was drunk and stepped on it. It cracked and she whacked me over the head with a broomstick, made me clean it up too, then took my caps anyway and set to work.

“She called it an evil eye and that it would bring me bad luck. I told her I had no luck left to lose. She shrugged and shoved me out.”

Arthur sits back and dabs at his work. “Did you believe her? About your luck?”

I snort. “What do you think?”

I turn my head to look at him. He is biting his lower lip the way he always does when he tries to make up his mind. He catches me looking and grins at me.

I smile back. No, that eye never brought me bad luck. Because the Elder asked me about it when we were sparring a few years later. Fists flying. He is so fast. I landed on my back, him on top.

He helped me up and asked whether I wanted to prove my dedication to the Brotherhood and get rid of that hideous blob on my shoulder at the same time. Arthur had a lot of ink on him. Some of it from others, some of it he had done himself.

I had seen the work he had done on Kells and Ingram so I said. “Sure.”

That night Cutler’s eye vanished under the insignia of the Brotherhood of Steel.

By now the pain has faded and the floaty trance has settled in. I don’t do drugs. Not anymore. But this feeling comes pretty damn close.

“Feeling good?” I can feel Arthur’s breath on my ear.

“Mmmh. Yeah.”

“You wanna see?”

I open my eyes and look at the script. “Ad victoriam.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows when I frown at him. “Something wrong?”

“No, but...”

“But?”

“That A looks very...elaborate – compared to the rest I mean. Are you trying to tell me something?”

Arthur smirks at me. “Perhaps. Do you want it to be…more?”

I lean forward.

It is time.

“Yes.”

The End

 


	24. I don't sing - Rhys/Haylen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here is a little scene from the past. About two months after Haylen has joined the Brotherhood of Steel, she and Rhys have a little encounter by moonlight.
> 
> Tags: Romance, singing, UST, frustration, ok for work

Haylen was dreaming. She stood by a pond, a waterfall cascading down one side of a mountain. She felt happy and safe. Suddenly, someone emerged from the water. The person had no face, but Haylen was not afraid. It walked toward her, arm outstretched, and it was…singing. 

“How can you sing without a mouth?” Haylen asked the dream figure. It chuckled - a rich sound, contagious even. Haylen started to giggle as well. 

“Sing with me?” the man - was it a man? - pleaded. 

She shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t know how.” 

“You just-“

Haylen sat up. Something had ripped her out of the dream and into full consciousness. Instinctively, she fumbled for her gun, glancing around the dimly lit room. Patterson and Henry were still fast asleep. 

“Shit, am I going crazy?” she wondered under her breath, cocking her head and listening. 

There it was again. 

Reassured, Haylen climbed out of her sleeping bag, goosebumps spreading up and down her legs as soon the chilly night air hit her skin. She ignored it, mind too distracted by the faint tune drifting in through the shack wall. It was probably safe to assume that a singing man was not here to kill them, but who knew?   
She had once read a book about sirens, legendary sea creatures who had lured sailors to their death with their voices. She had to stifle a snort with the back of her hand when she imagined a raider group lying in a ditch, trying to serenade their prey to their doom. She suddenly recalled the creature from her dream and shook her head. 

“Oh dear, I hope Rhys is alright out there,” she cackled, struggling into her slacks and boots. Knight Rhys, the man on guard duty, was her sponsor and, although he was kinda cute, probably the stiffest, grumpiest, by-the-book guy she had ever met. He had taken her under his wing when she had joined the Brotherhood of Steel two months ago and they got along famously.   
In the beginning she had expected him to undermine her confidence because at first glance he came across as a bit of an ass. What he had done instead was to be a reassuring rock these past eight weeks, and Haylen genuinely liked him. 

She smiled in the darkness. “Maybe I need to go and save your ass this time, Rhys? Wouldn’t want it getting chewed on by singing savages, would we now?” 

Gun ready, she positioned herself next to the door and opened it a crack. The full moon illuminated the area outside quite nicely. Nothing but open plane wasteland and-  
The outline of Rhys’s Power Armour was clearly visible, however, it was empty. She hadn’t been worried up to this point but this seemed out of character. Her eyes darted back to Patterson and Henry. 

She had just made up her mind to wake them up when the song picked up again, clouds shifted and up on a boulder not too far away sat Rhys. 

“Surely not,” she muttered, holstering her gun, and stepped outside. When she entered the pool of moonlight, the song stopped and Rhys turned his head, gun ready before he recognised her and lowered the rifle back onto his lap. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

Eyes wide, Haylen shook her head. “Yes, I mean…I…” She cleared her throat. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Right,” he replied. “You wanna come up?” He leaned forward, holding out his hand. 

She glanced around the rock, looking for a foothold and pulled herself on top. She sat next to him and looked around. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” he prompted.

“Yeah, wow, I can see all the way to DC from up here. That’s why you ditched your Power Armour?” 

Rhys nodded. “Couldn’t get up here in it and on a night like this, I’d rather have the advantage, see the enemy coming, y’know?” 

Haylen frowned. “Doesn’t that mean they can see you too? You’re kinda on display up here.” 

He chuckled sheepishly. “Guilty as charged - I did it for the view, alright. But look, we are high up on this plateau. No-one here but us and this abandoned hut. No sniper rifle can reach up here, and I’d see a rocket long before it would get me. Besides it would be an awful waste for one guy. Relax, it’s cool and I can shoot any filthy beasties from up here much better than I could from the ground.” 

Haylen worried her lower lip. If Rhys was right and they were all alone up here then there was only one person who could have-

“What was that song you were singing?” 

It was worth it just to see the expression on the Knight’s face. Even in the moonlight she could tell he had flushed scarlet. Who would have thought that a grump like him had a voice like that? 

“Oh, you heard that, hn? Did I - ah damn - I woke you up, didn’t I?” 

“There are worse ways to wake up. So, what was it?” she asked, her gaze drifting to his full lips and wondering what they would feel like on hers. It was the first time she admitted even to herself, that she had a more than causal interest in her sponsor. The guy no-one could get close to, and here he was, flustered and cute and sexy as hell. And so close she could feel his body heat radiating off him and already the night seemed a little less cold. 

“No, forget it. I’m sorry I woke you up.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked everywhere that was not her face. 

“Well, I can’t force you, but-“

“But what?” He did look at her then, familiar scowl in place.

Haylen smacked her lips and stared up into the sky. “You leave me no choice but to sing.” 

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” he wondered.

“Be careful, Rhys. I have a tin ear,” she warned him with a smirk. 

“Oh really?” 

“Hm hm, and I couldn’t find a key with a compass and a map on a bright sunny day.” 

She decided Rhys looked even more cute when he tried not to laugh. 

“Last chance, Knight!” She took a deep breath. 

“Alright, you win,” Rhys held up his hand. “For the record, I have heard you sing before, and I’m sorry, but you’re right, it’s not pretty.” 

Haylen laughed so hard, Rhys had to grab her upper arm to stop her from falling off the boulder. He let her go immediately, and maybe it was wishful thinking, but she could have sworn he had let his hand trail down her arm before breaking contact. 

“Thank you,” Haylen mumbled. “Hey, Rhys?”

“Yeah?” He was scanning the perimeter. 

“Could you sing it again?” 

He gave her a long look, without meaning to Haylen leaned forward a little. “Please?” she whispered. 

They were so close, they were breathing the same air. All she had to do was tilt her head a little more and they would… She could see his eyes darting to her mouth. Was this why she had come out here? 

Yes.

But before Haylen could close the gap, Rhys jerked his head away. It felt a bit as if he had opened a door for her only to slam it in her face at the last second. Had she read him so wrong?   
She wanted to ask what was going on, the words already forming on her tongue when Rhys muttered something under his breath, turned his gaze toward the stars and started to sing. Frowning at this sudden shift, Haylen scooted back a little, crossed her legs and listened. 

She couldn’t understand the foreign words from a long dead language but the melody was haunting and beautiful. It spoke of longing and little by little the pain of rejection made room for awe as she sat in the moonlight waiting for him to finish. 

When the last note had died, Haylen let out a breath she hadn’t even noticed holding. “That was beautiful.” 

Rhys glanced at her, fidgeting. “My dad taught me when I was little.” 

“Oh,” Haylen exclaimed, her eyes softening. “Thank you. For sharing, I mean. [Do you… do you know what the words mean?](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.omniglot.com%2Fsongs%2Fwelsh%2Fdacwnghariad.htm&t=OTYyNzliZGE3NjEwMDdhOGVhODM2NmE3NjQwMTlmMDFkZjZiZjBkNiw1ZURXa3dRcA%3D%3D&b=t%3ADO--tBpAoiQUb-qw6-4rGA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fsyrenpan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F156975311620%2F8-for-rhys-and-haylen&m=1)” 

He looked at her then, shaking his head. “Something about waiting, I dunno. Dad said it reminded him to have hope my Ma would come back home again someday.” 

Haylen wet her lips. “So, it’s a love song?” 

To her surprise, Rhys jumped to his feet and growled, “I told you, I don’t know! Let’s- let’s go back to the house. Henry is due to come on duty anyway.”

Before she could respond, he had leaped off the boulder and marched back to the hut without so much as a backward glance.

At a loss what to make of the past fifteen minutes of her life, Haylen looked around as if she expected a deus ex machine to come forth to explain what that had all been about. But there were only the moon and the stars, and the rest was silence. 

The End 

Note: The song is Dacw ‘Nghariad - [lyrics](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.omniglot.com%2Fsongs%2Fwelsh%2Fdacwnghariad.htm&t=OTYyNzliZGE3NjEwMDdhOGVhODM2NmE3NjQwMTlmMDFkZjZiZjBkNiw1ZURXa3dRcA%3D%3D&b=t%3ADO--tBpAoiQUb-qw6-4rGA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fsyrenpan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F156975311620%2F8-for-rhys-and-haylen&m=1) and [melody](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DNrkgdj0bVAo&t=MTk5YzIzZWM1ZDA3Njc1ZDUwMjExOTQ5ZWU4NGNjYTFmNTNkNzk5Myw1ZURXa3dRcA%3D%3D&b=t%3ADO--tBpAoiQUb-qw6-4rGA&p=https%3A%2F%2Fsyrenpan.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F156975311620%2F8-for-rhys-and-haylen&m=1)


	25. I don't kiss on command - X6-88/f!ss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tags: X6-88/f!ss, Female Sole Survivor Chloe Banks, first kiss

Her cheeks were still burning when she slammed the door to her house shut. Chloe wasn’t easily embarrassed, but the public rejection had stung worse than a slap to the face. She wasn’t thin skinned by any stretch of the words but she had had a few drinks and the way things had been going, she had thought-

“Well, clearly, I thought wrong! Don’t kiss on command! Tsk. It’s just a stupid tradition for fuck’s sake!” She kicked the chair in front of her kitchen counter. It crashed to the floor; a leg broke off. 

“Great, that’s just fucking great!” Chloe bent down to pick up the pieces, only to drop them again. Lost cause, just like-

“Ma’am, I believe we have to talk!” 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” 

“I believe that is not possible, they are allegedly one and the same person,” X6-88 replied calmly. 

“How did you sneak in here? And since when do you have a sense of humour?” Chloe asked through gritted teeth. She had landed with her rear on the broken chair leg. 

X6 extended his hand. Chloe eyed it before she swallowed what was left of her pride and allowed him to help her back on her feet. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, rubbing her bottom to ease off the pain. 

“You’re welcome. I came because I believe there has been a misunderstanding,” he explained, cocking his head to one side. 

“A misunderstanding?” Chloe asked dryly “Oh, I think it was pretty, damn obvious to everyone in the bar what was going on, or not going on for that matter.” 

That was one of the reasons nobody wanted to play poker against X6, his body language gave nothing, absolute nothing, away of what might be going on behind those steel-blue eyes. She remembered the first time he had taken his shades off and Chloe had done a double-take because, damn! X6 was a fine looking man, who took pride in his work. It may be evil work, but he was good at it.   
She liked fighting by his side because he was ruthless and efficient and she could respect that. Talking to him always gave her perspective because he was the opposite of her. She was all hot blood and rage where he was cold, detached determination. 

Which was why it caught her completely off guard when he reached for her hand again. He raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles like an old-fashioned gentleman. Chloe was distantly aware that her mouth hung open but there seemed to nothing she could do about it. 

Still holding her hand, he said, “I did not mean to cause offence when we were standing under the mistletoe. I was not aware of the tradition or else I would have been more careful about my position in the room. I also do not believe in public displays of affection. If I harbour more intimate feelings for you than this is between you and me, and nobody else’s business.” 

Chloe nodded, still stunned speechless. X6 took a step forward, her hand was now resting over his heart, it was beating just like that of every other man. She tilted her head, meeting him half-way as he lowered his face. 

His lips were soft, just like she had thought they would be. It was obvious he had never kissed anyone before in his life; his mouth just pressing against hers. He jerked his head back whenChloe moved her lips against his. 

“What?” she asked. 

He looked at her, for the first time something like uncertainty in his eyes. “I trust this resolves the misunderstanding between us?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Chloe’s mouth. “Somewhat, yes. But I fear you might have to be a bit more specific.” Before he could reply she lifted herself on tiptoes and kissed him again. 

The End


	26. Kiss me - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was also "I do not kiss on command". 
> 
> Tags: Modern AU Fallout 4, UST, Arthur/Danse, first kiss, angsty, ok for work

“Why do I always let you talk me into these things?” Danse let out a long, suffering sigh when the deafening rendition of “The Twelve Days of Christmas” blared at him as soon as the door was open. 

“Because I’m smarter than you, better paid than you, and have been your best friend since Kindergarten, now in you go!” Ingram gave him a push into the stifling air of the BOS office Christmas party. 

His appearance was greeted with loud cheers. As a firm believer in team spirit, Danse forced himself to grin and wave at his fellow employees, no matter how much he hated these things. A drink in a red plastic cup appeared almost magically in his hand as he made his way to the other end of the room where he had spotted a shady corner in which he intended to lurk until Ingram was too distracted to protest his departure back to the sanctity of his studio apartment where a cold Gwinnett and the latest Valentine crime novel were waiting for him. 

Twenty minutes later, Danse still hadn’t touched whatever stuff was in that cup which smelled like someone had mixed eggs and cold medicine but kept holding it up as exhibit A whenever a colleague came over and offered to get him a new one. Haylen had kept him company for the first five minutes, already quite tipsy, and complaining about her on-again, off-again relationship with Rhys who was conspicuous by his absence. He wasn’t the only one not in attendance, Danse noticed. The new area leader, Arthur Maxson, was nowhere to be seen and Danse was both relived and disappointed. 

Maxson’s arrival had been announced six months ago. Officially, he was a transfer from the West Coast HQ. Jessica Maxson, CEO of BOS, was sending her son to oversee her business interests in Boston, New York and D.C. They had all grumbled about nepotism, and how someone so young - Arthur was 25 - couldn’t possibly represent the interests of a multi-million dollar powerhouse like the BOS without knowing the locals. 

But the protests had died in their throats when the man himself had walked into the building. By the end of the first month, they had a new, more efficient command structure and interest in their services had doubled, including a very lucrative contract with the Institute which had been coveted by more powerful, international companies. Arthur Maxson had impressed.

More than impressed. Danse had trouble staying professional around the other man. Because-

“Speak of the devil and he appears,” Danse muttered, eyes glued to the open front door as Arthur Maxson strolled into the room. 6’2” of solid muscle and magnificence. 

Danse was losing his mind because Arthur was a walking wet dream and had openly flirted with him during their first one-to-one which had happened exactly a month after he had taken over. It wasn’t even just winks and hints - it was full on, “Would you like to go on a date?” 

It was of course unethical and Danse had flat out refused, even citing the company’s sexual harassment policy. To his surprise, Arthur had not been offended at all and even apologised. Before the impertinent bastard had reiterated the question. 

“Would you like to go on a date with me?” 

“Is that an order from the boss to pucker up, sir?” Danse stared at him in disbelief. 

“Absolutely not. I’m new to Boston. I hardly know anything about the area that isn’t related to the job. And,” Arthur visibly swallowed and looked Danse up and down, “in the interest of full disclosure, and so there are no misunderstandings, I find you very attractive.” 

Danse eyes widened, he could feel the heat crawling up the back of his neck. 

“No, this is not an order from your boss. It’s Arthur asking Danse whether he would like to have a meal with him, talk about non-work related things, maybe show him where you can get a good draft around here, where it might be nice to go for a five mile run, and if all goes well, we would do it again, see where this might lead?” 

Danse cleared his throat. “I would really like to keep things professional between us. It is not ethical for us to engage in anything other than official business, and I would really appreciate it if we could drop this subject indefinitely.” 

Arthur had sighed, clicked his tongue and agreed. Since then, nothing. The next months had been nothing but very formal, and even pleasant business encounters. However, Danse could never get this first, private meeting out of his head. He had subtly asked around whether Arthur had tried it with anyone else but his enquiries had only gotten him confused stares and assurances that Arthur Maxson was professional and focused on his work.

So it had just been him, and little by little Danse found himself wondering what could have been if he had said yes. Arthur was good at his job. He brought direction and leadership. He was firm but fair and, god fucking damnit, Danse had started to check him out as well ever since they had both happened to be in the company’s gym at fucking five am on a rainy Monday morning. At first they had worked out in silence but when Arthur needed a spotter, Danse had offered to help and Arthur had returned the favour. 

They started talking a bit more after that and agreed to do this more often. No come-ons then either, nothing but two men working out and getting to know each other a bit better until Arthur was all he could think about. 

And last Thursday, Danse was sure sparks would fly at any moment when at an awkward moment they both turned in the gym, chests touching - Arthur’s eyes were the colour of steel. He had a scar on his cheek and they all knew he told a different story how he got it every time someone asked, and suddenly Danse was dying to hear the truth, preferably while they lay entwined between messy sheets after a different kind of workout.  He was still convinced that a relationship with the boss was a surefire way to lose your job, but the man had gotten under his skin and he wanted him to stay.

Danse had licked his lips, drawing Arthur’s gaze. Before he could second guess himself, Danse had tilted his head and - Arthur had turned and walked away without a word, leaving Danse standing in the gym feeling like a fool. 

“Time to go,” Danse announced to no-one in particular and quickly scanned the room. Ingram had stationed herself by the buffet table, but thankfully, she had stopped looking over like a mother hawk checking that the chick was still in the nest. He put the plastic cup with the vile swill on a nearby table and began to weave through the crowd. He was sure Arthur hadn’t spotted him yet and now they moved like hands on a clock in opposite directions through the room. 

“Disco time!” It went dark for a second before strategically placed pinpoint lights hit a disco ball, bathing the room in cheesy 1970s disco glitter. Danse groaned while everyone else started to whoop and gravitate toward the centre of the room, which was apparently the designated dance floor, forcing him to change course. 

Kylie started to announce through he loudspeaker that “Every Day’s like Christmas” and the mass of bodies started to sway around him. Danse tried to squeeze through, eyes fixed on the door, only Quinlan and Kells - deep in conversation at the edge of the dance floor - stood between him and his freedom. Hand on the door handle, he exhaled-

“Leaving so soon?” Arthur’s voice was like a kick to the stomach. 

Oh fuck!

“Danse-“

Without turning, Danse opened the door and stepped into the cold, wintery Boston night air. Struggling back into his wool jacket and winding his scarf around his neck, he took full advantage of his long legs, bringing more distance between him and the man who was playing games with his head, hot and cold, yes and no, and Danse was done with it. 

“Danse!” A hand grabbed his shoulder not too gently, spinning him against a wall. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?” Danse yelled, the echo bouncing off the walls in the deserted street.

Arthur’s shoulders were heaving under his heavy leather coat. “I want to apologise to my friend, is what I want! But he isn’t even listening to me. So while you are not running away from me like you have in the past three days, I’m sorry about Thursday. Danse, I’m sorry, okay. I fucked up. I’m not perfect. DO YOU HEAR THAT BOSTON, ARTHUR MAXON FUCKS UP LIKE ANY OTHER GUY!” 

Danse leaned his head back against the brick wall, suddenly tired, tired of running, of hiding that he was in love, of not knowing here he stood. He looked at the man in front of him. “Are you done with your theatrics?” 

Arthur grunted. He stepped closer without meeting Danse’s eyes. “Yeah.” 

“What are you sorry for?” 

“What?” Arthur’s head jerked up, searching Danse’s face for any clues as to what he wanted to hear. 

Danse took pity on him. “What are you sorry for Arthur? For leading me on since our first encounter until you are all I can think about, or for leaving me standing like a god damn fool in the middle of the gym?”

The younger man’s throat constricted, white clouds of hot air condensed on his beard as he stared into Danse’s face, processing what he had just heard with wide, open eyes, until he finally replied, “The latter.” 

It began to snow again when Danse’s hands cupped Arthur’s cheeks before he crushed their mouth together. They kissed for the first time in the flickering light of the streetlamp on a cold Christmas Eve in Boston, and all was well. 

The End


	27. It would be more romantic if we could kill something - Arthur/m!ss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Valentines prompt #1 It would be more romantic if we could kill something
> 
> Tags: Love, tradition, what really matters, sfw, m/m, Arthur and Nate being cute

“So this is really a thing?” Arthur stroked his beard. 

Quinlan peered at him over the rim of his glasses. “The records indicate it was a widely celebrated holiday in the USA, yes.” 

Maxson nodded. The only reason he was researching the significance of February 14th was because Nate had quipped this morning about it being Valentine’s Day and then had added in an offhand fashion, “And I didn’t get you anything. I’m a terrible boyfriend.” 

Arthur’s initial reaction had been honesty, if only to forestall disappointment because he had not gotten Nate anything either because he had had no idea he should have. But Nate had laughed and waved him off. “Don’t worry about it, it was a terribly cheesy tradition, invented by greeting card companies, chocolate factories and flower merchants.” 

Coming back to the hear and now, Arthur asked, “But it was not a conspiracy?” 

Quinlan shook his head. “Not that I’m aware, but I can double check the archives if you want.” 

“Probably a waste of time,” Arthur shrugged, although he was fascinated by the idea of a great card-chocolate-flower conspiracy. Capitalism had led men down a ruthless path for personal gain. It didn’t surprise Arthur in the slightest that they had perverted love into a commercial enterprise. 

But that still left him with he problem that it had been an actual tradition and Arthur was, in his heart of hearts, a very traditional man. Besides he wanted to do good things for Nate, things that would make him smile. 

“Thank you, Proctor, “Arthur said absentmindedly. He had already left when his head popped back into the room, “Quinlan, what do you do to show someone you care about them?” 

The Proctor considered the question, his eyes darting to his cat who was cleaning its paws on top of his desk. “I get them dinner?” 

“Mmmh, yes, that sounds good. Thanks.” 

Arthur spent the rest of the morning and the better part of the early afternoon interrogating people about their habits when it came to displaying romantic affection. The results had been…colourful to say the least and given him a new - and occasionally unsettling - insight into the people whose lives he held in the palm of his hand. 

After eliminating some of the more questionable suggestions, he now had a laundry list of things he could do to show Nate how much he cared about him. It was time for one final second opinion. 

Maxson found Danse in the Grease Pit, tinkering with his power armour. The Paladin kept working while he listened to Arthur rattle down his list before he tossed the spanner back in the tool box, sniffed, turned and said, “Burn that list and take him hunting - Deathclaws preferred.” 

“What? Are you sure?” It sounded great. Arthur would love it, too. Nate would be  _bouncing_  with joy. But it was not very romantic, was it?

“Trust me, Arthur. I have known him longer than you, and if you really want him to have a great time and show him that you understand what he is about - that’s what you do.” Danse punctuated the statement by snatching the list from Arthur’s fingers and tearing it into tiny pieces. 

“Hey- uhm. You seem very certain about this,” remarked Arthur, still wavering between tradition and gut instinct. 

Danse just looked at him with his usual stoic expression. “You just go get him, and then you know what to do.” 

Fuck it! It  _was_  a great idea. 

“Thanks, Danse!” Arthur patted the Paladin on the arm and ran back to his quarters. He changed and threw a few things into a duffle bag before heading to the flightdeck where he was sure he would find Nate doing some tinkering of his own. 

And sure enough, two familiar looking legs and rear were sticking out of the tail end of a Vertibird. 

“Hey,” Arthur announced his presence over the whistling of the wind. “You busy?”

“Not any more. Just finished tuning her.” Nate emerged from the engine, covered in dust and grease. He was grinning and then seemed to take in Arthur’s get-up. “Are you going somewhere?” 

Arthur set his Gattling Laser and duffle back on the ground. “Well, I thought we could maybe get away from here for a few hours.”

“Oh?” Nate’s face lit up. “Where are we going?”

Arthur stroked his beard as if in thought. “How about Diamond City? We could have a nice meal? Maybe dance? Go for a walk under the lights of the Great Green Jewel?”

The smile on Nate’s face turned more brittle with every suggestion. Thankfully, Arthur was world champion in hiding his true emotions, so he kept his shit together instead of rolling on the floor laughing at the half disgusted, half horrified expression in Nate’s eyes. 

“Or, I don’t know, we could jump into your bird, head for the western hills and hunt us some Deathclaw steaks for dinner?” 

The light was instantly back in Nate’s eyes. Arthur was pleased to notice that his boyfriend did indeed bounce. 

“You - you are the best! If I wasn’t covered in this filth, I would…Give me half an hour. 45 minutes, tops!” 

Arthur did laugh then, slapping his thighs and punching the air in victory as he watched Nate run up the steps and inside. 

Maybe this whole love and tradition thing wasn’t so bad after all. 

The End


	28. Bit of Both - Danse/Deacon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From my Valentine's prompt list: "13. I have to pick between sex and food? Hand me a napkin, please. F!ss and Danse"
> 
> Tags: anti-f!SS/Danse and pro-Danse/Deacon, rare pairing, UST,sfw,

He loathed her. There were no two ways about it. From the day Layla Martin had stumbled into the Cambridge police station, she had been a thorn in his side. The reason they hadn’t all met an untimely end that day had been pure, dumb luck. 

She seemed to have a ton of it. Deacon had once whispered to him that she was an idiot savant as they had both watched her take out a secret raider hideout with a grenade - _a grenade_. 

Layla had meant to hit an approaching mirelurk, only to throw the grenade backward and into the derelict building behind her which subsequently collapsed because the detonation took out the last main structural support. She had beamed at them as if it had been her intention all along and jumped for joy, her ridiculously large boobs bouncing up and down in that skintight blue jumpsuit. 

That was the other thing about the sole survivor of Vault 111, although she was thick as soup, he found her unfairly attractive - until she opened her pouty mouth to say something of course. She was petite, barely over 5 feet tall, fair skin and bronze hair that cascaded in waves around her shoulders. Freckles drew attention to her delicate nose and wide, green eyes. Her teeth were white and perfect, and if she hadn’t been such clueless klutz, Danse would have tripped over himself to get to know her better. 

As things were, he would rather date the railroad spy than Layla fucking Martin and he hated that guy. No really, he did, sort of. 

“Danse!” 

He winced as her high pitched screech assaulted his eardrums before her arms wrapped around his neck, causing him to spill his beer on the rickety table at Sanctuary’s bar. Layla didn’t notice or care, probably both. 

“Initiate,” he greeted her through clenched teeth and tried to take a sip of whatever was left of his beer. He had permitted her to join the ranks because he had been desperate, and although she tended to cause more problems than she helped to solve, the locals loved her for some reason and he had thought he could use her to get more information and assistance from other, more capable people. It had worked after a fashion. Danse’s eyes swept the room and landed on Deacon who was leaning against the makeshift counter, making conversation with the bartender. 

Layla took the chair next to him and rested her pointy chin in her hand. Fluttering her long lashes at him, she asked, “Where have you been lately, big guy? I was getting all lonesome. It’s not nice to make your girl wait so long.” 

Oh yeah, and there was this thing where she seemed to think she and Danse were together in a romantic relationship. No matter how often he assured her of his disinterest, she either didn’t care or it went right over her head. Again, probably a bit of both. 

Danse finished off his beer and slammed the bottle onto the table. He grimaced and looked at her, deadpan. “I was busy.” 

And if I had had any say in it, I would have never ever come to see you again but my boss if making me. He didn’t say that last bit out loud, though. Maxson had ordered him to bring Layla Martin to the Prydwen to take the measure of her. Had his report not been clear enough? She was a walking liability! But no, Arthur was determined that she could be a useful tool. Yeah, he had that about fifty percent right. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Layla asked, poking him in the arm. 

No, he hadn’t. “Of course.” 

“Good, so how about it?” she winked at him and suddenly he felt he should have paid a bit more attention to her nerve grating babble. 

He went for broke. “Let me think about it. I’ll get back to you, okay?” 

She blinked at him and leaned back in her chair. “Excuse me?” 

“What?” Oh shit, she looked pissed. 

“Paladin Danse, it’s not every day a girl is willing to, you know, like, go all the way. If you are unable to commit to this,” she indicated between her chest and his, “than I’m not sure how much longer I’m willing to tell RJ no. Just so you know, there are plenty of fish in the sea and they all would like a taste - _of this_.” She stroked her hands over her boobs as she stood up. 

What the fuck was she talking about? “I’m sorry, Initiate, I don’t follow.” 

“Well, you’d better because I’m going to go back to my house now to slip into something more uncomfortable,” Layla winked at him. “See you in five, big guy.” 

“Wha-“ he started but she had already swivelled on her feet and skipped out of the door. 

Danse felt a warm hand come down on his left shoulder while he was staring at the door. 

“You okay?” Deacon asked and took the seat Layla had vacated. 

Danse turned to face him, eyes wide when he exclaimed, “She’s crazy.” 

Deacon nodded sagely. “Yeah, stone-cold, fucking nuts, but hey, could be worse right?” 

“How so?” 

Deacon stroked his chin, “…Nope, I got nothing.” He shrugged and flashed his teeth at Danse who felt the corners of his mouth twitch in response. 

“She seems to think I’m…that she and I…that we…”

“Well, she is pretty in a female sort of way. You’re not tempted? She is clearly offering.” 

Danse stared at Deacon who was feigning nonchalance while peeling at the label of the empty beer bottle. A nervous gesture, quite unlike the confident, jaded guy Danse had come to grudgingly like over the past few months. Not that he would be caught dead admitting it. 

He kept quiet and just observed the spy who seemed to try not to fidget in his seat. Despite his unfortunate affiliation with the Railroad terrorists, Deacon had been resourceful and willing to share information. Maybe…

“Well?” 

“Well what?” Danse asked, still pondering this new opportunity in the attractive shape of one Deacon. Maybe Maxson would reconsider his options if Danse pitched it just right. Maybe convince him that he wouldn’t need Layla fucking Martin after all. The prospect was too good to pass up. 

Wait! _Attractive?_

“Are you going to go over there or what?” Deacon’s question had come out surprisingly harsh. Danse raised an eyebrow and stared back. 

The air seemed oddly charged. Deacon was peering at him over the rim of his sunglasses, allowing a rare glimpse of his blue eyes. 

With a shake of his head, Danse replied, “Not even for the Brotherhood, my friend.” 

And just like that the tension seemed to defuse, making room for a more relaxed atmosphere that Danse thought he could get used to. 

“Friend, huh?” Deacon chuckled.

“You got a problem with that assessment?”

“Nope.”

“Good, then. You hungry?”

Now it was Deacon’s turn to look surprised but he composed himself quickly. “I could eat.” 

This could be the start of something good. Danse felt it in his stomach and it wasn’t solely about food. “Then let’s go and find out what smells so amazing out there and then we can talk.” 

“Talk? About what?”

“Just an idea, you’ll see. But, food first!” 

Deacon laughed into his hand. “Okay.” 

“What’s so funny?” Danse asked rising out of his chair and gesturing for the other man to follow. 

“Oh nothing, it’s just-“ Deacon took off his sunglasses to polish them on the hem his shirt. 

“Just what?” Danse tried not to ogle the taught, lean body just visible where the shirt was currently not covering skin but it was surprisingly difficult.  

Their eyes met. “It’s somehow very _you_ to choose food over fornication, no offence.” 

Danse shrugged. “Depends on what I’m hungry for.” 

Deacon bit his lower lip and donned the glasses again. “Good to know.” 

As promised, they ate and talked before Deacon suggested maybe it would be wiser to be far away from Sanctuary once Layla cottoned on that Danse was going to be a no show. 

“You’re probably right. If I get started now, I could be in Concord in an hour and camp out there.” 

Deacon gave him a sideway glance. “Care for some company?” 

Danse, who had been about to climb into his power armour, stopped. “Is that in relation to my proposition or-?” 

“If you’re asking whether this is business or pleasure-“

Danse gave a short nod, nostrils flaring, his mouth had run dry. Well, this was unexpected.

Deacon smirked and replied, “Bit of both.” 

Unexpected but not unpleasant. 

“I can live with that.” Danse murmured and climbed into his power armour before Deacon could see his grin.

The End


	29. Good Morning - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20\. Sweet, sappy, sticky prompt that gives you cavities with Danse and Arthur 
> 
> Just a little PWP.
> 
> Tags: Danse/Arthur, morning sex, frottage, nsfw, sap

Two things immediately became apparent when Danse surfaced from the land of dreams. 

Number one, he was not alone, and number two, he felt good. 

Not your bog standard, garden variety kind of good either. Danse felt glorious. He was aching in all the right places. Reminders of last night’s activities which had been better than a training exercise. 

Much better. 

Just thinking about what they had done made him want to turn around and encourage an encore. He felt the tell tale heat bloom inside his tummy. His skin tingled. All he would have to do would be to-

There was a sniff followed by a low-key grumble in response to his squirming before the arm around his waist tightened just so, pulling Danse closer against the large, warm body behind him. He smiled. 

“Are you awake?” 

The other man growled and nuzzled Danse’s neck before he grumbled. “No, go back to sleep.” 

“Not a morning person?” Danse teased, his whole body shaking as he tried to suppress a chuckle. 

Another grunt. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

Danse looked at the clock. 6:05 am. He wiggled around until he could turn and face the other man. Breathtaking, beautiful, perfection. 

It had been a long journey from their first meeting to this bed but it had been worth it. All the angst and heartbreak and gut wrenching agony of not knowing which way their relationship would go. All worth it because Danse knew without the shadow of a doubt this was it for him. Forever and ever.  

Eyes still closed, Arthur’s hand cupped Danse’s cheek and pulled him into a kiss.  

“I’m going to be late for work,” Danse whispered but made no move to get up. Arthur hummed against his lips. “I know your boss. He doesn’t mind. In fact, he would prefer for you to remain exactly where you are.” 

“Is that so?” Danse chuckled, brushing their noses together. 

“Mh-hm.” With a twist of his hip, Arthur rolled on top of Danse, nestling between his legs as if he belonged there. Maybe he did. 

“Is there something you want, Arthur?” Danse asked slyly. He snaked his hands underneath the blanket to grab that perfect ass and hauled him closer, making them both moan as their cocks surged to full hardness from the delicious friction. 

Arthur sighed and raked his fingers through Danse’s dark locks. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

Danse furrowed his brow and pretended to think all the while bucking his hips while his hands pulled Arthur closer, making the other man’s lips part in a breathless gasp. 

Why indeed?

Danse wanted to say so many things. Lay out all the reasons why he had not jumped Arthur when first had the chance. But thinking was becoming hard just like his cock sliding against Arthur’s with each move, so he settled for, “Because we are idiots.” 

Arthur responded with another kiss. Just a brush of lips really before he pulled back. He did it again and again, until Danse felt he was going crazy. 

With a growl his hands snaked around the back of Arthur’s head, forcing him down into a searing kiss. He thrust his tongue between welcoming lips like he was starving and Arthur was a banquet. 

They rutted against each other, their bodies in perfect sync until Arthur moaned into Danse’s mouth as he came between them. The hot cum splashing against his abs pulled Danse over the edge as well. 

Arthur collapsed on his chest with a groan, his nose buried in the crock of Danse’s neck. A pleasant, warm weight despite the sticky mess between them. Danse held him close and planted a small kiss on top of Arthur’s head.

He knew they had to get up soon and shower but not now. Now they were together. The way it should be and nothing else mattered. 

The End


	30. Shoot me - Danse/Cutler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unbirthday present for avaleahworks on tumblr. 
> 
> Tags: Danse/Cutler, Sap, M-rated, the morning after they get together in “Matthew”.

“Hm, I could get used to that,” Cutler purred, wiggling closer to the warm body spooned against his back.

“Get used to it,” Danse replied with a smile, peppering his best friend’s neck with small kisses.

Cutler opened his eyes and turned around. Danse shifted away just enough to allow for the movement but scooted in closer once Cutler was facing him.

“What?” Danse asked with a grin.

“Nothing,” Cutler smiled, fixing his gaze on Danse’s lips instead of meeting his eyes.

They chuckled, both knowing what would happen next. Danse had this way of patiently staring at him like he could do it for an eternity. It never failed to work and the bastard knew it.

“Okay, stop, I’ll tell you.” Crap, it had been easier to hold out on Danse when they had just been friends - when had that been? Oh yes, yesterday. The thought was both exciting and terrifying. “Fuck, there goes my secret life.”

Danse shook his head. “Cutler, you don’t have a secret life. I’d know.”

“Oh yeah?”

Danse cocked his head, mouth pressed in a firm line, looking stern and serious. In the past that expression had been mildly intimidating but this close Cutler could feel Danse’s whole body slightly shaking in an effort not to burst out laughing.

Cutler tried to frown which was almost impossible when he was so fucking happy, but he gave it his best shot. “But I’m beginning to think you have a million things I don’t know about you. And here I thought we were friends and you cared about me.”

He had expected a joke or mock offence but instead Danse leaned in and whispered against his lips. “I care about you, I think that’s obvious by now.”

Heat spread through Cutler’s guts. The fire he had kept at bay for the past - oh, forever - flared and consumed him in the best possible way. Danse rolled his hips against him, their cocks twitching to life.

“Show me again.”

*~*

They woke up later, legs entangled in the sheets and each other. Danse twisted and rolled on top of Cutler.

“What did you want to ask earlier?”

“Huh?” Cutler asked through hooded eyes, his body still feeling heavy and relaxed from the best possible workout ever.

Instead of elaborating, Danse kissed his way along the stubbled jaw and down Cutler’s exposed neck.

“Is this your attempt at interrogation? If so, it’s doing a lot of things but not-“

“Just ask,” Danse mumbled into Cutler’s skin, licking along the collarbone.

“Uh, ‘kay…when…since when did you want this? Want me? I mean, I’d wanted to be with you for so long and-”

Danse lifted his head and pushed himself up until he could look into Cutler’s eyes. The babbling stopped.

“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure,” Danse replied and he never lied. And that was a good thing. Still, Cutler wasn’t sure why but he felt a pang of disappointment. Maybe it made him a sap, but part of him had hoped for something a little more romantic than “I dunno”.

Then again, he had always thought Danse was furious with him when he made that tight-lipped, frowny face and it had turned out to be a ruse. Maybe Danse didn’t lie but he was obviously not above a little deception to get what he wanted, or in this case avoid a confrontation.

Cutler clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes. “Really? You’re telling me you went from friends to lo- I mean this,” he rolled his hips to emphasise the point, “just like that?”

Danse gasped and bit his lower lip, answering by grinding his cock into Cutler’s hip and crushing their mouths together. When they came up for air, Danse was panting.

They held each other’s gaze for a minute. Cutler had never seen that look on Danse’s face before, but it was beautiful. Open and raw.

“I’m not- I’m not the most introspective guy. I don’t sit down and analyse my feelings. Maybe it’s because I don’t remember having a family or…”

“Hey, you don’t have to-“ Cutler began. He was thrilled Danse was letting him in but not if it was causing that much grief.

“No. No, I want to tell you. I’m just not very good at it,” Danse said with a wry smile. He pulled back and sat back on the bed. Cutler did the same, resting his back against the wooden backboard, giving Danse a bit of space to collect himself.

“Do you remember when Mr Tinkerpaws burned down the shop?”

Cutler nodded. How could he forget? Danse had not spoken to him for three days after the incident, only glaring daggers as they sifted through the wreckage. That had been ages ago, though.

Danse stared at the mattress, eyes unfocussed as he dragged the memory out. “That mangy fur ball you tried to save even as our home was going up in flames, roof about to collapse. You ran into the smoke to look for him. I tried to grab you but I was too late. You were gone and for a few seconds I thought I’d never see you again. You were just gone. I think that’s when I knew I loved you.”

Cutler stared, mouth open, the corner of his eyes stinging as he watched Danse’s hands ball into fists in the sheets. That was indeed more than “I dunno” and once again Cutler received more than he had bargained for. In a million years he had not expected this because that had been two whole years ago.

Two years.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” It was a stupid question, he knew it as soon as it had left his mouth. Danse’s head snapped up. Their eyes met.

“You know why,” Danse replied.

Yes, he knew. In a world where friends and family were what got you through the day, a broken or aching heart paled in comparison to bare naked survival. But, damnit, they had lost so much time.

“I couldn’t lose you, I just couldn’t. It was easier to pretend to be angry. I don’t think I’d have ever told you if you hadn’t made the first move. You’re a braver man than I am because I would rather die than lose you,” Danse confessed, his hands letting go of the sheet and reaching for the man he loved.

“I promise, you won’t ever lose me. You would have to fucking shoot me at this point!” Cutler closed the distance between them, climbing into Danse lap and kissing him. Tears were leaving salty streaks on his cheeks but Danse lapped them up before he pushed Cutler down and made love to him again.

The End


	31. Kinky Bird - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #7 The dog/cat/pet is watching us oh god
> 
> Tags: It’s really silly. And sappy. And NSFW. Takes place in the Heatwave verse.

“It’s good to be back,” Arthur smiled, dropping his duffle bag on the ground in front of their log cabin.

“Mh-hm, it is,” Danse agreed. “Take your clothes off!”

Arthur’s jaw slacked. He turned to look at the Paladin but his eyes were gleaming. For a second or so he contemplated drawing this out but - fuck it - they hadn’t been able to be together for months, unless you counted getting shoved into storage closets and ambushed in the shower at 3am as being together. There was no reason to be sneaky now which was why Arthur was already ripping at his belt.

“You like what you see, soldier?” Arthur asked once he stood naked under the midday sun, knowing the endearment made his partner’s cock twitch.

“I sure do,” Danse replied circling around the naked man, his eyes caressing every inch of Arthur’s magnificent body.

“I feel underdressed,” the Elder prompted, a tad impatient.

Danse stepped in front of him until they were breathing the same air. His mouth hovering half an inch over Arthur’s, “As you wish, take off my shirt.”

Arthur wanted nothing more than to close the distance and kiss his way from Danse’s lips down to his cock, but he knew better. This was not the place where he was in charge to do as he pleased. This was where he submitted, but Danse had better do something or he would forget the rules and pounce on him - he gave him about ten seconds.

One.

Arthur raised his hands and pulled the white T over Danse’s head, exposing the defined chest dusted with soft, black hair that lead down to a happy trail Arthur was dying to follow. “Fuck, you’re hot!”

Danse licked his lips, “Tell me what you want!”

Two.

“You know what I want.”

Three.

“Then fucking say it, Arthur,” Danse teased, biting his lower lip.

Four.

“Fuck me.”

Five.

Arthur had no idea how Danse had acquired so much self-control. He had always thought of himself as a disciplined leader but he felt like a bleeding rookie compared to the willpower Danse could put on display. It made him wonder what the BOS could accomplish were he the Elder - and why was that thought such a turn-on?

Six.

“Ask me nicely.”

Seven.

“Fuck me, pretty please with bourbon on top!”

Eig…

Danse surged forward, one hand fisting in Arthur’s hair, the other groping at his butt, pulling him against Danse’s hard body as he shoved his tongue down Arthur’s throat, tasting every corner of his mouth.

Arthur only noticed they had moved when his back bumped into a tree trunk, the rough bark digging into his flesh, but it didn’t matter because Danse was already on his knees in front of him.

“Look at me!” Danse wrapped his fist around the base of Arthur’s cock, brushing his fuzzy cheek against the sensitive skin, smearing precum over his lips and licking them as if he had never tasted anything more amazing.

He wanted to say it, wanted to order Danse to suck him, but all he could do was stare and try to control the quivering muscles in is legs.  
What was it about this man that made Arthur forget who he was supposed to be and just let go? It was exhilarating, liberating. It made his heart swell with emotions he usually tried to hide in the bottom drawer of his soul.

“Fuck!” Arthur’s head slammed against the trunk as the warm, wet heat engulfed him. But nonononono…

Danse pulled back. “I told you to look at me!”

Arthur forced himself to look down through hooded eyes. Danse’s own were so dark they looked black as he slowly opened his lips and sucked him back into into his mouth.

“Oh gods…” Arthur drooled and didn’t care. Danse kept staring up at him as he started to kiss his own fist.

“Ohfuckohfuck…”

“Buk-Buk-Buk!”

“Ohfu…what?” Danse had stopped and frowned at him, Arthur’s dick still in his mouth.

“Buk-Buk-Buk!”

Danse let him go and sat back on his haunches. “Is that you?”

Arthur scowled. “No! Do you think I’m a-“

“Buk-Buk-Bwaaaak.”

Both men turned as one to see the creature walking into the clearing, occasionally pecking at the ground. It was small, pink, and unlike it’s ancestors, completely devoid of feathers.

“Danse, do you see what I’m seeing?”

“I don’t know what you’re seeing, but I see dinner.”

They both grinned and as if on cue the chicken stopped in its track and stared at them out of one beady eye.

“Buk…buk?”

“I think it knows we are up to something,” Arthur whispered, making Danse snort. “Ah crap, you scared it!”

They both stared at the spot where the chicken had run back between the undergrowth. Arthur wrinkled his nose.

“Oh well,” Danse shrugged and without warning pushed Arthur back against the tree. He fumbled with something in his pocket and produced a small bottle. He pulled the stopper out with his teeth and spat it on the ground before he sank back onto his knees and coated his fingers with the oily substance.

“Put your leg over my shoulder, that’s it,” Danse commanded.

Chicken all but forgotten Arthur moaned Danse’s name as he slowly finger fucked him, getting him ready to take all of Danse’s impressive cock. Even through the pink fog of lust, Arthur heard the sound of a zipper as Danse dropped his slacks. He straightened up, Arthur’s leg still held in the crook of his elbow, holding him open and ready. Arthur clung to Danse’s heaving shoulders. They were both panting, foreheads pressed together as Arthur felt the head of Danse’s cock nudged against his hole.

He couldn’t jerk off in this position, couldn't even grind his aching cock against Danse’s taught abs.

“That’s right,” Danse rasped, slowly easing into him, ”you’ll stand here, helpless, at my mercy, ready to be fucked, and you’re gonna like it.” With a snap of his hips, Danse pushed in, momentarily lifting Arthur onto his toes.

“Fuck,” they couldn’t keep this up for long but it didn’t matter, Danse was inside him and all else could go to hell for all he cared.

“Buk-buk-buk.”

They froze and stared first at each other and then slowly turned their heads.

“You’re fucking kidding me!”

The chicken was right there. If Danse were to let Arthur go and reach down, he would be able to pet it - or strangle it like he wanted to right now.

“Shoo! Get outta here, you perv!” Arthur hissed which made Danse laugh.

“Buk.” The chicken was not impressed and inched closer, tilting its head. “Buk. Buk.”

“Is he telling us to fuck?”

They both lost it. Danse let Arthur go and staggered backward which only resulted in his feet getting tangled in his slacks. He fell backward onto his ass, hissing and laughing at the same time.

“Bawwwk.”

Both men were laughing so hard they were crying and still the damn bird was just staring at them.

“Hey, you, you’d better not be ogling my junk,” Arthur shouted between gasps as the bird continued to stare.

Danse face went deadpan. “Hey, that’s mine, beady eyes up here!”

“Yours?” Arthur asked with a raised eyebrow.

Danse shot a last glare at the chicken before he looked at Arthur. “Yes, mine, you got a problem with that?”

Arthur smiled. “Not at all.”

They looked at each other and both realised, this was it.

“I love you,” Danse smiled.

“I love you too,” Arthur felt stupid for just parroting the words back but it was the truth and Danse deserved to hear them. It wasn’t their first confession but it somehow had more weight, more forever. It made his heart hammer in his chest.

“Buk. Buk-buk. Buk.” The chicken clucked solemnly as it looked at them expectantly, turning it’s stupid head from side to side.  

Arthur stepped forward and pulled Danse back onto his feet. “I think it wants us to kiss.”

“Lucky bird, ‘cause that’s what I was going to do anyway,” Danse grinned before he planted a sweet kiss on Arthur’s lips.

“Buk.” When they looked, the chicken briefly hunkered down, clucked again and then wandered into the direction of the cabin without a care in the world, leaving a small but perfectly formed egg behind.

“You know what? Let’s keep it.”

The End


	32. Scratching an itch - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #19 kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing
> 
> Tags: RST, kissing, fluff

“Stop scratching, you’re making it worse!” Danse glanced up from the chess board and met Maxson’s glare.

“It’s itchy,” Arthur hissed through gritted teeth. He twisted his right arm to inspect the red patch running from his wrist to his elbow and about a thumb wide.

“Yes, it’s healing so leave it alone,” Danse replied in the same tone a patient school teacher would use on a naughty student.

“I still don’t understand why the stim didn’t take care of it - what if I’m dying?”

Danse rolled his eyes and got up. “You’re eighteen not eight, Arthur. You’re not dying. I know it was your first dirty bomb encounter but I’ve had about half a dozen of these injuries and they always do this. It will go away in a few hours. Leave your skin uncovered - and don’t scratch!” He enunciated every syllable as he grabbed Arthur’s hand, forcing him to stop irritating the injury further.

The Elder glared up, a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue where it died a sudden death because Danse was right there. A different kind of itch, which had started several years ago and had built up to an almost unbearable intensity, made itself known. And for the first time, Arthur got the distinct impression he was not the only one feeling the need to scratch.

Heat bloomed in his stomach. He was suddenly conscious of how dry his lips felt and darted his tongue out to wet them. He could _hear_ Danse swallow.

“It’s itchy,” Arthur whispered.

“Yes,” Danse nodded, shoulders heaving, his eyes were so dark they looked black.

Strong arms pulled Arthur out of the chair. Danse’s tongue pushed between unresisting lips, tasting every corner of Arthur’s mouth. They were moving, hands busily tearing off shirts until they crashed onto the bed.

Danse lay on top, peppering Arthur’s face and neck with tiny kisses.

“Still itchy?”

“Hell yeah,” Arthur replied, the rash on his arm all but forgotten.

Danse’s eyes crinkled at the corner, “Well, I guess, maybe a little scratching won’t hurt.”

The End


	33. In Vino Veritas - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #15 - I thought drunk sex would be fun but we’re so uncoordinated that I just kissed your nostril again.
> 
> Tags: Arthur/Danse, drunken blowjob, people not feeling so good - you have been warned!, nsfw

“Happy Birthday,” Arthur mumbled into Danse’s neck after he had seemingly tripped over his own feet and caught himself by pushing Danse against the bulkhead next to the door to the Paladin’s quarters.

Nobody really knew the exact date when the Paladin had entered the world, so Arthur had decided today was the day and insisted on celebrating. There had been food, singing and alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

“Wha…whatcha doing?” A chuckle escaped Danse’s mouth. Arthur’s beard tickled his skin.

“Noth-“ a hick-up, “nothing,” Danse could hear the grin in Maxson’s voice, right before he felt warm lips skimming along the shell of his ear. He shivered. Heat started to bloom in his guts, or maybe it was the bourbon, but it seized to matter because when he turned his head to ask again what was going on, Arthur’s mouth found his.

Arthur kissed like he did everything in life - with passion and taking no prisoners. Danse had to knock his knees together to keep from sliding to the floor. He admired Maxson, hell, he loved the man for who he was and what he had accomplished. But not in his wildest dreams had he thought Arthur would want him in this way.

And yet, it felt right. This, this here was exactly what had been missing form his life. His hands found Arthur’s jaw, cradling it before he finally gave as good as he got.

Arthur moaned into the kiss. “Danse…”

Maxson looked at him, searching for an answer to an unspoken question, and he must have found what he was looking for because the corners of his mouth lifted before he fumbled with the door handle behind Danse’s back.

They stumbled inside. Hands pulling and pushing, trying to get their clothes off. They shrugged out of their tight suits. Danse’s mouth ran dry when Arthur stood naked before him. They kissed again before Arthur dropped to his knees and without hesitation gripped the base of Danse’s cock and sucked it into his mouth.

“Fuck!” Danse’s head snapped back, his fingers tangling in Arthur’s hair. It had only been a few seconds and already his balls were lifting. Damn, he hadn’t realised how baldy he had wanted this before…before…before…holy shit-

And just like that the warm, wet heat was gone.

Danse looked down, his brow wrinkling with concern when he saw Arthur turning pale as he fell backwards onto his butt with a groan.

“What’s wrong?” He crouched down, reaching for the man on the floor.

“Uhm-“

“Hey, are you okay?” Arthur was turning an unhealthy shade of green.

“Oh shit!” Danse scrambled to get the metal bucket he used as a bin and managed to thrust it in front of Arthur just in time.

‘Well, that’s one way to kill the mood,’ he thought. He left Arthur to empty is stomach and started to rummage in his duffle bag he kept stocked for emergency evacs.

“I don’t feel so good,” Arthur mumbled, pushing the bucket away. He accepted the can or purified water with a wry smile and rinsed out his mouth before flopping onto his back.

“Feeling better?” Danse asked.

Arthur slapped his hands in front of his face, “That was a shitty idea,” came the muffled response and Danse felt his heart sink.

“Exactly how drunk are you?”

“V-e-r-y,” Arthur enunciated carefully.

“Right, let me help you back to your quarters, Elder,” Danse offered, already donning some slacks. He frowned at the naked man on the floor and wondered whether he could risk helping him streak across the hallway without being spotted. One look at Arthur’s unfocused eyes confirm that they wouldn’t have a choice in the matter.

They managed to make it to the Elder’s quarters where Danse dumped Arthur onto his bed. At this point, he wasn’t even sure Maxson would remember any of this in the morning, and a part of him was grateful. Alas, a much larger part of his heart convulsed at the thought that this had all been just a drunken mistake. He didn’t want it to be. It certainly didn’t feel like one to him.

Without being able to stop himself, Danse reached down and brushed the longer strands from Arthur’s forehead. He sighed and made a silent vow not to bring this up again. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe-

Before he could finish the though, Arthur’s hand shot up and closed around Danse’s wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“What?”

With more coordination and strength than a drunken man should have, Arthur pulled Danse into the bed and manhandled him until he was snuggled into the Paladin’s side, his nose tucked under Danse’s chin.

“Arthur?”

“Mh-hhmm…”

“Arthur?”

But he only heard a faint snore in response. Danse stared at the ceiling. His fingers started to comb through Arthur’s hair on autopilot, feeling happier than he had in years. A million questions flitted through his mind. How had this happened? Well, booze - obviously! But how long had Arthur wanted this? And more to the point, would they regret it?

Danse sighed. What was the point in worrying? Drunk or not, for now, the man he loved was a solid, warm weight next to him and his heart felt lighter.

“Fuck it, we’ll deal with it in the morning.”

The End


	34. Out Of Luck - Danse/Cutler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #9 - I tried to do a strip tease but instead I tripped on my own pants and slammed into the table.
> 
> Tags: Danse/Cutler, stripping, unfortunate accidents, swearing, nsfw, set in the Matthew verse

“What are you doing?” Cutler bit his lower lip as he watched Danse walk backwards until he collided with the central support beam in their living room/kitchen area.

They were a bit tipsy, a bit giggly, and very, very happy. ‘Love is a funny thing,’ Cutler thought as he sat down on one of the old chairs.

Danse, serious, intimidating, no nonsense - and as of late - Cutler’s boyfriend Danse was swaying his hips in a suggestive manner.

Cutler tried to stifle a laugh which only resulted in him snorting. “What on Earth are you doing, man?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Danse asked, his voice all sultry. He lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing part of his taut stomach. Cutler could just about catch a glimpse of the happy trail before it vanished again from view.

“Are you… trying to _seduce_ me?”

Danse grinned, lifting his shirt again, this time a bit higher. “Why, I believe I do! Is it working?”

Cutler’s dick twitched in his pants. “No.”

“Liar!” Danse growled back, pulling the shirt over his head with a flourish before tossing it in Cutler’s face.

The sniper laughed. “What got into you? Not that I’m complaining. Definitely not.”

Danse shimmied - _shimmied_ \- up and down the beam. The muscles in his chest and tummy flexed in a distracting way. Cutler licked his lips.

“Let’s see,” Danse replied, finally letting go of the beam and sauntering toward his boyfriend, undoing the buttons on his slacks as he walked. “We had mudcrap for dinner-“

“Courtesy of Matthew,” Cutler chimed in, his eyes glued to Danse’s fly.

“Courtesy of Matthew who is currently doing some overnight work for Dillon and won’t be back until breakfast.”

Cutler raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Mh-hm,” Danse confirmed. He had his slacks undone and Cutler’s jaw slacked as he saw the pink head of Danse’s dick poking out of his underwear. It glistened with pre-come.

“Looks like I’m not the only one enjoying your show.”

Danse straddled Cutler, slinging his arms around the sniper’s shoulders. They kissed. Danse darted in and then teasingly backed away until Cutler caught the lush lower lip between his teeth and sucked it into his mouth.

“Your turn,” Danse mumbled against his boyfriend’s lips.

“You’re on!”

Danse got up and took Cutler’s seat. He spread his legs and shamelessly stroked his dick while he watched the other man. Cutler’s shirt went first, exposing lean muscles under his smooth, dark skin. Cutler had few scars compared to most people because he was altogether more sneaky and clever when it came to dealing with danger. And he was lucky. He certainly thought so himself as he glanced over his shoulder to see Danse’s reaction.

“Oh yeah, I’m so fucking lucky!”

“Huh?” Danse asked, his eyes dark with lust.

“Nothing, just watch!”

Cutler put his hands on his butt and started to swing his hips. “Do you like what you see?”

“You know I do - I would like it even better without those fucking pants,” Danse growled. Cutler’s dick surged to full hardness. Danse was not a potty mouth - they even had a swear jar - which somehow made it really hot when he did cuss.

Damn, Cutler wanted to be naked. Naked lap dance - yes, sir!

Eager to comply, he ripped off his belt and only slightly misjudged when the leather strap whipped out of the loops and whacked Danse in the crouch.

“Oh fuck - shit, I’m sorry!” Cutler shouted. “Danse, say something!” Danse had turned bright red, his mouth pressed together in a grim line, hands crossed protectively over his dick and balls. Too little, too late.

Cutler took a step and tripped over his pants, falling face forward and somehow managed to brace his fall by elbowing Danse right between the legs. Danse, who had out of reflex reached up to catch his boyfriend, went cross-eyed. The chair gave way under them and they ended up on the floor in a mass of splinters and pain.

Cutler was the first to recover. “Danse, Danse - oh shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Looks like I’m all outta luck. Hey, that rhymed.”

An unidentifiable grunt emerged from Danse’s mouth.

“What? What was that?”

“I said,” Danse pressed out between clenched teeth, “that’s six caps for the jar.”

It was so inappropriate but Cutler laughed. It wasn’t a happy laugh but it helped diffuse the guilt over almost castrating his boyfriend before nutting him.

“It’s actually seven if we add yours.”

Danse grunted before he rolled onto his side. “Fine, just…next time I want to sleep with you, maybe we just get naked the old-fashioned way.”

“Or we could stop wearing clothes,” Cutler suggested in an effort to lighten the mood.

It didn’t work. Danse grimaced. “Or that…whatever…just…not that again, please.”

Cutler scrambled to his feet, pulling at his slacks. “Lemme get you some ice for…yeah, lemme…I’ll be right back.” He darted out of the room as fast as a man holding up his pants with both hands could.

Danse crawled to the rickety makeshift couch. “Well, that went well. Not. Aw fuck!” One more for the jar. “Let’s make it an even ten,” he announced to the room.

“Fucked-y fuck.”

The End


	35. Lancelot and the King - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Maxson to Danse, post-Blind Betrayal. “I can’t stay away from you.”
> 
> Tags: Arthur/Danse, sappy, so much for keeping it short, no time to edit - sorry rn, okay for work

The gatling laser clattered to the ground. Useless. Spent. He had gambled for the highest stakes and although the BOS was winning it looked like victory would come at high personal cost. So be it.

The synths closed in. Arthur drew his knife and roared. He would die like the heroes of old. In battle. He idly wondered whether they would sing songs in his honour. He wasn’t usually this vain but in the privacy of his own head - who cared? He knew he was admired. Even loved. At least he had been. Once. The regret hit him like a punch to the chest. He had thought he had buried these feelings.

“I’m so sorry-“

He didn’t have time to finish the thought when the swarm of Gen 1s closed in like a metallic tidal wave.

Another roar, but not from his throat, tore through the battle noises. A paladin in full armour appeared out of nowhere, decimating the synths as if they were made out of paper.

When the last enemy fell, they both stood knee high in broken metal.

“Thank you, Paladin. I owe you my life,” Arthur nodded. The other soldier didn’t answer but instead picked up one of the synths’ weapons and tossed it to Arthur who caught in in mid-air.

“Let’s finish this!”

Arthur froze. Even through the helmet, he couldn’t mistake this voice for anyone else’s. It was the voice of a ghost. His one failure. His biggest regret.

“Danse?”

“Paladin Danse is dead, sir!”

Arthur stood in front of the armour and looked up. “Take the helmet off!”

“We have no time for this!”

He was right. They didn’t. “I will find you, I promise.” Arthur said before they sprinted down the corridor to finish what they had started.

Three days after the Institute lay in ashes, Arthur Maxson pressed the buzzer to announce his presence at Listening Post Bravo.

The lock clicked and the elevator chimed open. Arthur bounced on the balls of his feet all the way to the bottom floor. His hands started to sweat. He wasn’t sure what to expect but he had made up his mind, and there was no turning back.

The door opened and Arthur looked into the brown eyes of his former friend and most trusted soldier.

“I was expecting you sooner,” Danse greeted him and gestured for him to step into the room.

“I…I had things to finish.” Damnit! Arthur cursed himself. He felt hot and cold, seeing Danse brought back all the thing he had tried to suppress. Anger. Regret. Lust.

Danse lead him to the backroom and sat on the edge of his cot, motioning for Arthur to take the only chair in the room.

Arthur took off his coat and draped it over the backrest before he wheeled the offered chair so he could sit in front of Danse. His friend looked surprised but didn’t flinch.

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity.

“Why did you help me?” Arthur finally asked.

Danse licked his lips. “No matter what, I was and always will be your soldier. I tried, believe me, I tried not to,” Danse shook his head, his eyes took on a watery sheen. “I tried, Arthur, but I can’t change what I am.”

“And what exactly does that mean?” Arthur asked, reaching for the other man’s hands. Tears started to fall from Danse’s eyes.

“I don’t understand-“

“Answer me!” Arthur gripped harder.

“I am a synth.”

“And?”

“I am a soldier of the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Danse was honest, it was one of his finest qualities, one that Arthur admired the most about the other man. But he knew there was more. He felt it in every fibre of his body.

“And?”

Danse looked up, panicked. He shook his head. “I can’t-“

Arthur leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Danse’s. They both gasped into the kiss. Danse’s hand came to rest o the back of Arthur’s head, pulling him closer.

“And wherever your battles take you, like it or not, I’ll be with you,” Danse confessed against Arthur’s lips. “I’m yours.”  

“Yes, you are,” Arthur confirmed. “As I am yours.”

A sob escaped Danse’s lips. “Arthur, I-“

Arthur nodded. “I know. There is nothing you can say that I haven’t told myself a thousand times before. It changes nothing. I love you. And now, let’s go home, soldier!”

The End


	36. A better man - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21\. “I’m better when I’m with you.”  
> Tags: Love, so much love, fluff, Arthur/Danse, sfw, continuation of In the flickering light.

It was a sunny day, tempered by a mild breeze from the east. Danse stared at the horizon at the empty, blue sky above Boston airport and swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in his throat to go away.

Today was the day, but the Prydwen, the Brotherhood of Steel’s giant airship, was nowhere to be seen. A part of him had already resigned himself to the fact that he would never see him again but then again, here he was, sitting on the bench where Arthur had made his promise.

Danse's heart ached and his eyes stung with unshed tears. Maybe it was better this way. Now that the waiting was over, he would have to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. How to go on, live without-

“Hey,” Danse sat up straighter as a shadow appeared on the ground next to where he was sitting on the old wooden bench overlooking Boston.

“Hey yourself.” The bench creaked as Arthur sat down next to him before he planted he soft kiss on the corner of Danse’s mouth.

Calloused hands intertwined. Despite his outward calmness, Danse’s heart seemed to try to hammer itself out of his ribcage. All the doubt and anxiety that had held him prisoner in the past six months dispersed within an instant as he glanced down at their joint fingers.

“You kept your promise.” He was surprised how relaxed he sounded, feeling anything but.

“I always do,” Arthur replied before he reached for Danse’s chin and gently turned his head.

“June, 4th on the hill before sunset.”

“Hn,” Danse bit his lower lip. His eyes drinking Arthur in. He had trimmed his beard shorter and there was a new scar cutting his right eyebrow, but the steel-blue eyes were full of life and happiness.

Gods, he had missed him so much. Seconds had felt like years. He had willed the days to pass faster and at the same time feared he would sit on this bench and watch the sunset by himself.

“I wasn’t sure-“

Arthur kissed the rest of the sentence out of his mouth. The tip of his tongue sweeping between parted lips until something seemed to burst inside Danse’s chest and he pulled Arthur into his arms, kissing him within an inch of his life.

“I don’t believe you,” Arthur finally said.

“What?”

“You knew I would be back, why else would you be here?” Arthur asked with a soft smile.

Danse bit his lower lip and pressed their foreheads together. So much had happened since the day Arthur had come to Listening Post Bravo. The day they had become lovers despite the odds.  
And when the Institute had been brought to its knees, Danse and Arthur had met here in this very spot where the Elder made a promise to return on this day no matter what.

“Because I’m yours, always have been and always will be,” Danse confessed before asking in a more serious tone, half dreading the answer, “What happens now?”

“Well, I think we should find something to eat - I’m starving - and then,” his eyes sparkled, “I very much want to celebrate our reunion.” He pressed their lips together again but Danse pulled his mouth away.

“No, I mean,” Danse frowned. Years of ingrained routine tried to wrestle to the forefront, preventing him from questioning his Elder’s wishes. But that’s not how it would be from now on, he reminded himself. They were Arthur and Danse now, and he had a right to know. “Arthur, I mean _after_. Also, how did you get here? Where is the Prydwen?”

Arthur scratched the back of his head. “She is patrolling in the Capital Wasteland. Or last I heard.”

Danse shook his head, not certain he understood what Arthur was saying. “Last you _heard_?” He eyed Arthur’s attire more closely. He was dressed in nondescript travelling clothes, definitely military but without any insignia. They were dusty and his boots had seen better days.

“Did you _walk_ here?” Danse asked with raised eyebrows.

“No, well, not all the way. I still have some friends. One gave me a lift in her bird for, oh, at least two-thirds of the way.” He shrugged before his smile faded and the silence stretched between them until Arthur took both of Danse’s hands.

“I tried changing the tenets, I really tried, but it would have ripped the Brotherhood apart again. and I didn’t want that. Not after all it has cost me to reunite the factions.”

Danse was about to ask a million question but Arthur squeezed his hands and continued. “But, I love you. And if I have learned anything in my life than it is that I’m a better man when I’m with you. I like the man I am when I’m with you. So, call me selfish, but I want to spend my life with you and I don’t know whether synth can age but I want to try this growing old together if you will have me.”

He had given it all up. Guilt fought with unbridled happiness in Danse’s heart. Arthur had given up the life he had fought so hard to build to start a new one. With him. They would be together. Forever.

“Please say something?” Arthur asked, biting his lower lip.

“I can’t believe you did that.” It wasn’t the most eloquent thing to say but it was certainly true to how Danse felt.

Arthur grinned. “Is that a yes?”  
Instead of a reply, Danse leaned forward, took Arthur’s face between his palms and kissed him.

“So, yes?”

Danse laughed. “Yes, of course! Yes!”

The End


	37. If you die, I'm gonna kill you! - Arthur/Female Lone Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a sequel to The Cost of Nostalgia. 
> 
> Tags: character death

When the Prydwen came down like a dying phoenix, Clover screamed. It had seemed only moments since she had lost Des, Carrington, _Glory,_ beautiful bright feisty Glory.

Deacon.

She had held him. The voices of synths ringing in her ears as they had run past the dark side tunnel. Deacon had smiled at her.

“Chin up, beautiful, you still have your king in his sky ship, and he is waiting for you, for you both, isn’t he?” He had placed his hand on her belly. He knew. Of course he knew.

Clover had pressed her free hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs. Gen 1s were everywhere, still searching. But not here. In the dark where her friend died in her arms.

She had to leave him there, arms crossed over his chest. Clover had kissed his forehead and had run for the surface.

She had made it just in time to see Arthur Maxson’s pride and joy turn into a ball of fire.

Her legs were moving before she knew what she was doing.

‘ _Don’t be dead!’_

All was lost because a woman out of time had been reunited with her son, and together they plunged Clover’s world into darkness.

‘ _Don’t be dead!’_

Bits of burning metal still rained down around her. It seemed like a miracle that none landed on her head.

‘ _Please, don’t be dead!’_

The smoke stung in her eyes and lungs but she kept going.

‘ _I’m running straight into hell!’_

The road under her feet cracked. Clover cried out as her leg went right through the ancient tarmac. She threw herself forward, bracing the fall with her hands. The skin on her palms came clean off. Clover screamed and crawled forward.

‘ _Oh no. No. No. Not that.’_

She pulled her leg out and struggled back onto her feet, automatically crossing her arms over her stomach.

‘ _Please be safe.’_

Her leg would be bruised like the rest of her but she could walk, walk further into the inferno. She could feel the heat even at this distance.  

Clover coughed and spluttered, tears streaming down her face. She had barely made it to the airport road when her strength left her. Her knees buckled. She sat on the floor, legs bent outwards on either side.

‘ _No._ _No.’_

All was lost because Clover had hesitated.

‘ _This is my fault._ _My fault.’_

She raged and wailed, her bruised hand pounding on the cracked road surface.

“Arthur!” Clover screamed.

When the echo of her voice had died, a shadow appeared out of the smoke. Clover could hear the creaking of Power Armor.

‘ _FC burned out,’_ she thought automatically. And yet the figure kept walking. They were carrying something over their shoulder.

The soldier stopped in front of her and with as much care as they could muster laid their heavy bundle on the ground in front of Clover.

She stared at the body wrapped in a fire blanket, face obscured by the rough spun fabric. Her gaze darted back to the Power Armor. The person raised their hands. The clasped clicked and the helmet came off.

“You?” Clover stared into the face of the former Paladin.

“Wait, are you…?”

“M7,” he paused, Clover held her breath, “97, but you can call me Danse.” He said gruffly.

“Oh, ha ha, this is not the time for you develop a sense of humour. Why are you…? Arthur! Do you know where Arthur is?”

Danse nodded toward the bundle at her feet.

Clover looked back down, her hand shook as she pulled the blanket back.

“Arthur!” She screamed.

Maxson was unconscious but breathing. His beard and coat were singed but apart form that, she couldn’t make out any obvious injuries.

“He was at the airport, trying to fend off the attack. But, there were too many.” Clover heard Danse narrate but she wasn’t really listening until she heard him say. “42 was there as well.”

That did make her look up. She watched the muscles in Danse’s jaw work. He had stepped out of the Power Armor. He still wore the fucking orange suit.

“He got away.”

“Fuck!” Clover spat on the ground next to Arthur’s feet. “Did he do this?” She asked and gestured to her lover’s unconscious body. They needed to move him and find medical supply. Maybe one of the ruined houses would do?

Danse shrugged, “In a way. I was shadowing the airport because I figured they would try something before Liberty Prime went online. And I was right. They came out of nowhere, a massive force.”

“Help me move him into that house,” Clover said and grabbed Arthur’s feet. Danse wriggled his hands under Arthur’s armpits and together they lifted him into the ruin.

They placed him on threadbare sofa. Clover began to look for medical supplies while Danse recaptured the Institute’s attack on the airport. Arthur had worn his Power Armor and it had saved his life. M7 – 42 had taken on Maxson directly with Diane Henderson at his side.

They had him cornered against Liberty Prime’s head when Danse had joined the battle. Maxson had fired at Henderson but she had teleported away before the shot could reach her. Arthur and Danse had cursed and 42 had used the distraction to tackle Maxson despite the Power Armor. They fell. The courser activated his teleport before he could hit the ground. Arthur had been less lucky.

“His suit had already taken a beating. Everything was burning. I found a fire blanket, got him out and ran. I had just left the main gate when the Prydwen came down.”

“Aaarrggh!”

“Arthur,” Clover ran to the couch and knelt by his side. “Don’t try to sit up yet, you have a concussion, if not worse.”

“Clover? Where am I? What…?” Arthur stopped when Danse’s face appeared in his field of vision.

Maxson held the former Paladin’s gaze for a long time before he opened his mouth and said, “Report, Paladin.”

Clover looked over her shoulder just in time to see Danse close his mouth. He stood to attention and recaptured what he had just told Clover.

“I owe you my life,” Arthur said quietly.

“No, now we are even,” Danse replied, and after a few moments, Arthur nodded. Nothing else needed to be said.

Clover looked back at Arthur. “I thought I had lost you too.”

Maxson took her hand in his. She hissed as he inadvertently squeezed her abused palms.

When Arthur saw the damage, he asked, “Danse, can you find us a stimpak or two?”

The former Paladin nodded and resumed the search where Clover had left off, and gave them some space at the same time.

“I love you,” Arthur said when Danse was out of earshot. “I needed to tell you now in case I can’t…”

Hurt or not, Clover clamped her hand over Arthur’s mouth. She shook her head from side to side, her mouth a grim line.

“Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. I have lost too much and too many in one day already. My world was ending and all I could think about was you. I need you to live.”

She got up from the floor and sat on the edge of the couch. Very slowly she pulled her hand off Arthur’s mouth, took one of his and placed it over her belly.

“We need you to live. Understand? I have told you before if you ever die, Arthur Maxson, it will be by my hand.”

Arthur stared at her with wide eyes. His mouth moved but no sound came out. His gaze shifting between his hand and her face.

“Mine?”

Clover gave him a dirty look that made him flinch before he smiled the widest smile she had ever seen on his face.

They had lost the battle and many friends but not the war. M7 – 42, Henderson and the Institute were still out there. Tomorrow they would have to regroup, pool their resources and plan the next attack. But just today, in this moment, Clover and Arthur pretended all was well.


	38. Icarus Caught - Arthur/Danse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Present for avaleahworks on tumblr.
> 
> Kissing, cuddle for warmth trope

The bed was too small, the quilt threadbare, and the walls draughty and old, but it was better than the alternative.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Arthur growled, shifting even closer to the warm body next to him.

“If you’ve changed your mind and want to freeze to death, be my guest,” Danse replied matter-of-factly and pulled on the quilt, only to encounter immediate resistance. Maxson had a fistful of cloth in his hand and wouldn’t let go. They played tug-o-war.

Arthur snapped, “If you hadn’t made me drop my gear into that ravine, I wouldn’t have to make this choice.” He suddenly let go, allowing Danse to rearrange the quilt to cover them both.

“And if you hadn’t shot my brahmin, we’d have enough supplies to make a fire and sleep on opposite ends of this humble abode. As it is, we have to make do,” the former paladin pointed out.

Silence followed. They could see the snowflakes falling outside the shack through the damaged walls, covering the world like a shroud.

“Stop squirming!” Maxson complained.

”Excuse me, but I’m not the one wriggling his crouch into my-“

“Finish that sentence and I forget I need you to survive this.”

The threat was greeted with a derisive snort. “Oh please, just stop.”

Arthur sat up and instantly regretted it. It was too damn cold to even lift the blanket, let alone throw it off and move away from the only available heat source aka Danse. He shivered and glared down at the former paladin who stared up at him with a look that clearly said, _“Are you happy now?”_

“Fucking hell! Why the fuck did I follow you into these godforsaken hills?” Arthur snarled.

Danse rolled his eyes at him. “Gee Arthur, I don’t know. Is it maybe because I’m a synth and even after five years you’re still feeling salty about Boston and you want to kill me?”

Maxson growled and jumped on top of his former soldier. His hands came around Danse’s throat. “Salty? SALTY? You’re an abomination. You aided the enemy. You-“

With a twist of his hip, Danse threw him off and reversed their position. The bed groaned precariously. Gasping for air, Danse held Arthur’s wrists crossed in front of his chest, effectively trapping them between their bodies.

When he found his voice again, Danse said, “I’m not going to revisit what has already been said. It’s clear you still don’t see me as anything but a machine that needs to be destroyed. And you know what? Fine, give it your best shot once this,” he indicated the outside world with a nod, “is over and then we’ll see. But for now, do us both a favour and stop being so melodramatic. I said to you an hour ago: either we work together or we both die. Is that what you want?”

Maxson’s nostrils flared, his chest was heaving. There was fury and pain in those blue eyes and Danse knew he had put them there, but there was nothing he could do other than make sure Arthur would get to live another day to make up for it. He let go and spread the cover again over them both while Maxson still stared straight ahead at the ceiling.

“Arthur?”

After taking a deep breath and briefly closing his eyes, Maxson turned his head, “What?”

“I think it’ll work better if I spoon you.” Maxson’s anger was almost tangible but he still turned over and lay still. Danse sighed and shifted closer. For a moment he was unsure what to do with his left arm until he sort of bent it and used it as a pillow, his right arm draped over Arthur’s waist. He carefully kept his lower body away from the other man as best he could.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Danse murmured after a few minutes. Arthur barked out a laugh but said nothing. “I mean it. I know they stripped you off your command when you made it back to the Citadel. Word gets around. I heard they had locked you up. Some folks even said something about execution.”

Arthur scoffed, “Oh, they wanted to. Had the gallows all ready. All traditional as per Codex. But the Codex also allowed me to choose an alternative, and I chose exile.”

There was a long pause before Danse asked, “Why?”

Arthur chuckled, but there was no humour in it. “What’s it to you?”

Danse hesitated. When he spoke his voice was laced with sadness. “The man I knew would have chosen death over exile without hesitation.”

”Yeah well, the man you knew died at Boston airport.”

Danse went rigid.

Maxson sniggered again but this time there was a trace of amusement in it. “No, I’m not a synth. At least, I’m pretty sure. Or did you hand me over to your masters when you pulled my ass out of the wreckage?”

There was a gasp and this time Arthur laughed out loud. He shifted and turned around so he could look at Danse who was staring at him slack-jawed. “Yeah, I knew it was you. There is no-one else who strides in power armour quite like you do.”

“I didn’t,” Danse blurted out. “Hand you over, I mean. I told you I was never with the Institute.”

”I know.” Arthur replied quietly. “Doesn’t change what you are, though.”

“No, I suppose not.”

They looked at each other in the dying light. It was getting colder by the second. They both shifted closer until their chests touched. Hesitantly, Arthur reached out and draped his arm over Danse as well. Their proximity made it impossible to look at anything but the other’s face.

“I’m going to give you a thirty minutes head start in the morning, then I’m coming for you,” Arthur whispered.

”If you expect me to be all noble and just sit and wait for you to kill me, you’ll be disappointed. I got addicted to living these past five years.”

”Good to know.”

Danse raised his eyebrows.

”It means I’m going to take something that’s precious to you,” Maxson explained before he finally turned around and closed his eyes.

*~*

“I’m alive,” Arthur observed after he opened his eyes. There was a grumbling sound close to his ear and the arm around his waist tightened, making his stomach lurch. “Why am I not dead?”

“Why are you not sleeping? Too early. Sun’s not even up,” Danse mumbled, his warm breath fanning against Arthur’s neck.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

There was a groan and Danse shifted to lie on his back, leaving Arthur room to turn.

“What kind of a stupid question is that?” Danse smacked his lips.“

“I said I’d kill you.”

”So? Gods, please don’t tell me you want to do this now! It’s not even fully light. It’s so cold my balls are shrinking back into my body as we speak, and between our little game of hide and seek before the storm hit yesterday and now, I’m still kinda tuckered out.”

Maxson laughed. The whole bed shook so hard, Danse had to intervene, “Okay, calm down, soldier. This rickety thing isn’t build for that kind of action.” It was just light enough to see Arthur was still grinning like a maniac.

“What got into you?” Danse asked.

”What got into me? I’m a dead man walking. Four times, Paladin. Four times now. My arrogance cost us the Prydwen and the Commonwealth. I should have burned with them and yet, there you were, saving my ass.”

Danse frowned. “I’ve a feeling you’re blaming me for something.”

“Oh yes,” Maxson confirmed. “When I was sitting in my cell under the Citadel, all I could think about was you. Your loyalty, your dedication, your stupid face. I kept asking myself, why did he do it? You had no reason to walk into hell and rescue a man who wanted you dead, but you did it anyway. Why?”

“Uhm-“

”I had to know. I had to find you again. I had to see you one last time. So, I chose exile and shame over death. That was the second time.”

Danse coughed and tried to pull the quilt tighter around himself. The tug on the fabric prompted Arthur to snuggle back under the cover as well. He scooted closer until they were hugging chest to chest again.

“Are you saying you were looking for me for five years?” Danse asked. Arthur nodded.

“But you were shooting at me on sight yesterday!” exclaimed Danse and lightly bumped his forehead into Arthur’s.

Maxson took a deep breath. “When you walk around, obsessing about a man for five fucking years, your mind wanders onto strange paths. I had lost all hope of ever seeing you again. I was so angry, I swore that if there was even the slightest chance we’d meet again, I’d kill you for making me go through all this. And what did you do? Hn?”

”Save your life?” Danse guessed.

“Precisely, and not just once - twice.”

”Twice?”

”When the storm hit, you bargained a truce so we could both live and then despite my best efforts, you failed to kill me in my sleep.” Maxson explained. “Why, Danse, why? I don’t get it.”

”No, you really don’t,” Danse whispered before he pressed his lips to Arthur’s. They parted with a soft smacking sound. “Do you understand now?”

Arthur nodded again. “Yeah, I do.” And then he kissed him again.

In the end, they did break the bed, but neither of them cared.


End file.
